


The Art of Suicide

by OpheliasSong



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Teen Titans, Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Batman - Freeform, Edgar Allen Poe, F/M, Gen, Harlequin, Lord Alfred Tennyson, Mental Health Issues, Poetry, References to Hamlet, References to Shakespeare, Rozz Williams, Self-Harm, Shalott, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, T.S. Elliot, The Lady of Shalott, malchior - Freeform, teen titans comic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 118,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliasSong/pseuds/OpheliasSong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of holding back her emotions and keeping herself locked up inside herself, Raven has finally reached her breaking point. After she swallows an entire bottle of sleeping pills, Robin tries desperately to save her from herself. Can Robin be her knight in shining armor or will Raven just become a causality of her own doing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alseep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Alright this is my first fanfiction, so I'm really excited. I would also like to thank you for just clicking on this story so I hope you enjoy it. I'm not really sure where this story is going to take me, but I can't wait to find out. I'm writing this story as a way to release my thoughts and ideas and if you are uncomfortable with the content then please read this next part carefully. I do not condone or encourage suicide in any way shape for form. That said I am not recommending nor am I condoning anything in anyway. Anyone who is contemplating suicide should get professional help or talk to someone. This story is going to cover the a lot of sensitive issues, I'm not in anyway trying to glamorize the subject, I'm just trying to look at it from all the different points of views. Please review, I would really appreciate feedback. Anything constructive is more than welcome, I'm trying to improve my grammar and the only way that can happen is with your help. Just One more thing I do not own Teen Titans or the song Asleep by the smiths.  
> P.s. The title of this story is inspired by a song by the same name by Emilie Autumn which is about the depiction of suicide in art and media and not about the act being an art form itself.  
> With love -Ophelia'song

_"Sing me to sleep,_

_Sing me to sleep,  
_

_I'm tired and I want to go to be  
_

_Sing to me, sing to me  
_

_and then leave me alone"  
_

_-The Smiths_

It was final, it was finally done; the long lasting pain was subsiding and the heaviness was lifting from her body with every shallow breath that threatened to be her last. As she began to slip away, the thought of how this all came to be ran through her mind. She never thought she would spend her last moments alone on a cold, fifthly bathroom floor. Nor did she think that her death would be dealt by her own hand. Raven's mind began to slip into another world as her fears and bonds began to dissolves. She soon found herself looking down at the girl with violet hair, who lay lifeless beneath her. Her pale skin was losing the very little color it had, and her attachment to the world loosened even more. _It's better this way,_ Raven thought as her _soul-self_ began to drift even further. She couldn't help but look at the empty bottle of sleeping pills that lay empty on the sink, its poison purging the very life from the soon to be dead girl before it.

Through all this, Raven couldn't help but feel a light air of freedom--a small aura of peace. She'd soon be free of her father and all the darkness in this world, she'd be free of the world itself.

In the back of her mind she knew her friends would be devastated, and she knew they'd never understand why she'd done such a thing. But the truth was, she wanted to go. The pain of living had become unbearable. No one knew how hard it was being an empath, especially being an empath who could not indulge in emotion, the very thing she should thrive on. This basic human instinct had been cut from her as a child and she knew this was what made life so unbearable.

No one could've imagined how numb she felt and how desperately she wanted to feel something other than the hate that burned for her father. No one could ever understand how hopeless it all seemed, or the secrets she kept hidden under her skin, but she was free now. No longer having to watch others feel and selfishly dwell in their emotions. Nor did she have to constantly control herself to keep her friends safe, or fight for her sanity any longer. (Though it was safe to say in the eyes of the law--she'd lost her mind.)

She knew she'd committed a crime against herself, and that this was technically considered murder to most.  But she thought due to the circumstances, she had every right to end her own life, even if her friends would disagree. _Thank god their not here,_ she thought knowing her fellow Titans weren't home. Or at least they weren't supposed to be.

Raven soon heard a knock at the door, though the sound was unwelcome and distorted. She could hear a familiar voice say, "Raven, I need to talk to you." 

It was none other than Robin, and as much as she cared for him (even more so than any of her other fellow Titans) he was the last person she wanted to hear right now. 

"Raven please, I know you want nothing to do with me right now, but I can't leave it like this. Please Raven, please just talk to me," The boy pleaded in a low, defeated voice, filled with desperation.

Raven knew it wouldn't be long before he kicked down the door and found her lifeless body. She also knew he'd blame himself until the day he died, but for some reason she didn't care. She knew exactly what he'd say to her if he knew she wanted to die. He'd tell her _she had so much to give_ , that her _life was worth living_ , and _that the world needed her,_ (or more importantly,) that _he needed her_. _Well fuck them,_ she thought, _how selfish of them for not understanding that I needed this, that this is what's best._ That she would no longer suffer with her disturbed darkness, the darkness that crept into her thoughts at night, and sculped her dreams into the works of nightmares.

"Raven, are you alright? Raven!" Robin screamed from outside the door, the thing standing between life and death. 

The calls of desperation were soon followed by a loud pounding. She knew he would break through that barrier at any moment, on his white horse, ready to save her from herself like he always had, but this time, she prayed he'd be too late. This time, she didn't want to be saved, because she couldn't be saved. 

Robin continued to yell and he began kicking down the door. Raven however faded even more so, the little life she had lift was almost gone, and for a moment, the world went silent. Only the light sound of running water could be heard in the distance, as she found herself in a peaceful atmosphere that filled her with a sense of calm. Something she hadn't felt even as a small child. It was then Raven pulled herself up to see the open space around her, solidifying the loss of her confines. The sky was wide and clear as she looked up to it in awe.

"It's over," she sighed, a light song rolling off her voice.

She let her eyes follow the gentle sound, the call of rushing water pulling her sight to distance before her. There was something about it that she couldn't ignore as she found herself being pulling toward what appeared to be a long brook.

Once Raven found herself at the edge of the water front, she looked down at the reflection it cast of a girl, looking back at her with a heavy mask of deception. She knew if she was to remove it, she would have to return to the water, the very origin of life. With a deep breath she closed her eyes and took a step forward and placed one foot into the brook, following it with the other. She soon found herself becoming consumed by cool liquid as she began to sink fast into the depths of its purity.

_I'm waking up,_ a voice echoed in her head, as she realized her sinking was not of a Shakespearean tragedy, but an unfortunate miracle. She felt herself being pulled back to her body and away from the peace she had for only a brief moment. She once again found herself looking down at the violet haired girl, who now lay in her leader's arms as the bathtub filled with cold water from the shower-head. 

Robin had in his hand the empty bottle of _Trazodone_ she'd taken and was frantically reading the fine print, which stated in the event of an overdose to induce vomiting. He clumsily got out of the tub and moved toward sink where the medicine cabinet waited with ominous patience, and pulled out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. With the bottle in hand, he rushed over to the lifeless girl, who lay limp in the bath tub, and began pouring the peroxide down her throat. 

Raven found herself being pulled even further back into her cage as she began to feel the burn of the peroxide flowing down her throat. A sickening feeling began to erupt deep in her stomach. And a few moments later, her mouth filled with the fowl taste of vomit and bile. Her soul-self began sewing itself once again to its physical form, once more becoming one with dying empath.

Robin pulled out his communicator and called for anyone who would listen, while Raven's body forcefully purged the poison. Tears filled her eyes as she began to become more coherent and aware that her attempt at freedom had _failed._

"Richard," She said in a weak voice that cracked under the effort it took to speak.

Robin look down at her, his eye filled with a mix of emotions, all radiating off him like smoke. "Yes Raven, I'm here. I'm gonna get you help, I promise."

"Richard, I don't want help, I just want to go back to sleep" Raven whimpered, releasing tears that ran down her face in furry.

Robin's heart immediately broke at the sound those words and sank to the bottom of his stomach. To know that one of his closest friends wished for a tragic ending made him feel helpless, something he hadn't felt since the day his parents died. Once again leaving him with the felling of lose and emptiness. Just like that little boy who could do nothing--do nothing but _watch_ and hope for God to not turn away this time.

"Raven you can't go back to sleep--not now-- _please not now.,_ " Robin pleaded, hoping that maybe something in his voice could reach her.

For Robin, the world was standing still once more, Time uncertain if it should aid him or not. It was clear now they'd reached the edge, but what wasn't clear was whether they'd both come back from it or not. It scarred him to think she was just out of his reach as she was so close, yet so far away. He could only stand by and watch her drown, though he wondered if he'd been watching sink all along.


	2. Why

The world seemed quiet for the first time in the two weeks since Raven committed what Robin could only conceive as the ultimate sin against one's self. Yet he found himself trying in great length to understand such an inconceivable thing. He was taught a very long time ago that life was precious, and that no matter the person or circumstance, it was not to be taken. Even by one's on hand. Still as he walked through the somber graveyard he felt a rush of thoughts and emotions that crawled wildly beneath his skin. He couldn't grasp the act, and he certainly didn't condone it, no matter what reasons she had, or what threat she thought she posed. Still, he couldn't help but mourn her, though his anger screamed loudly at her selfishness and the fact she thought she could just leave them. Leave him. This all made him sick with a thriving sadness that fed off him like a parasite.

 _How could she do this,_ he thought to himself as he walked the long path way, leading him deeper into the graveyard. _I mean was life really that bad? Why didn't she just talk to me? I mean God, did she even try?_ Robin felt his anger boil at the thought she felt she couldn't confide in _him_ , of all people. They were, by all means, best friends, weren't they? He wanted to help her, he wanted her to tell him why she hurt, or why she didn't.

Once he reached the end of the path, Robin's knees growing weak, almost buckling beneath him. He knew full well what awaited him only twenty or so feet away. This provoked a consuming fear he hadn't felt in years--the fear of loss. The anxiety was so great that he teetered on the edge of tuning back. He knew why he come here, to help him understand. Though it was unclear whether it was to understand _life or death._

 _Come on Grayson, this is no time to get cold feet,_ he thought, pushing himself forward in the direction of the headstone standing just a stone's throw away. Every step he took felt like a lifetime lost, yet they all led him to one he'd been ripped from as a child. The lives' he'd lost. As each step brought him closer to his destination, he could feel his eyes burn hot with tears, though he tried hard to contain them behind the he mask he wore. This was a stoic facial expression that was not hindered by any trace of fabric. He knew it would be a disservice to face them with his typical mask of mystery. Instead, he wore his real face, because today he was _Richard Grayson_ , the boy who lost his parents for what felt like a lifetime ago.

 _"John & Mary Grayson,"_ bared itself in carved letters on the old stone face, which was meant to remember the dead, but in truth he felt that in some ways he'd forgotten them. He'd not visited the lonely grave in years, not since he was a small boy and Bruce would take him there on a regular basis. However, after the third or fourth visit, he told Bruce he no longer wanted to go as it was too painful to remember them through a grave stone. Robin could remember the feeling, how it reminded him that in some ways he was alone, and that scarred him even more than one could imagine. He knew he had Bruce and Alfred, but the thought he could lose them just as easily only bred the same deep seeded fear he felt now. This was the kind of fear that gave him nightmares of the past and brought on sleepless nights. This was the same fear that was present in his mind when he saw Raven dying on the bathroom floor.

"So you finally decided to remember?" A deep voice said, causing Robin to raise his brow in surprise.

He turned to find non-other than the Dark Knight himself standing behind him, dressed in a long dress coat with flowers in hand.

"What are you doing here?" Robin asked a little dumbfounded at the sight of his adoptive father. He hadn't Bruce in years and to find him at, of all places, the grave site of his parents, provoked all sorts of questions.

"I come here every so often," Bruce answered with a shrug.

"But why?"

"Because someone had to remember them." 

The words stung the young man's heart more than Bruce had anticipated, "I remember them," Robin responded with a bitter resentment he couldn't hold back.

"Dick, that's not what I meant. I know you do, but I also know that you tried very hard to forget what happened to them." Bruce placing the flowers gently against the weathered stone. "I know that's why you asked me to stop bringing you here. You just wanted to _forget_ that they _died._ "

Bruce turned to face the young man, who he thought of as a son, and placed his right hand on Robin's shoulder and said with regretful honestly, "I'm sorry to hear about your friend."

Robin felt the front he'd been hold up for the past two weeks fall and shatter into fragments. The fragments that had pieced together the lie he'd been telling himself for far too long. Tears began to fall in streams of disarray as he looked at Bruce with a look of defeat in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Robin muttered with shame.

"Dick, it's alright to cry," Bruce lamented, breaking his own front, though it was only a crack.

"You always told me not too," Robin replied looking away, trying his hardest not to break into sobs.

"I told you not to make a _habit_ of it. I never said it wasn't alright to do at an _appropriate_ time."

"I just don't understand. Why would Raven do that?"

"Because maybe she thought…well hell--I don't know what she thought, but maybe the better question is; why don't you find out?" Bruce replied in a stoic manner.

Robin took a deep breath and tried to relax, feeling once again like a lost child in the presence of the man who was, in all rights, a hero. He knew Bruce was right, that in order to understand Raven's intention, he needed to understand Raven more then he did--more then he ever had. 

"I just don't understand why I'm so angry at her? I mean god--I could almost kill her myself," Rodin huffed, tasting the irony of his words.

Bruce shook his head. "Believe it or not that's good. It means you care about her." Robin flinched as the words hit him harder than Bruce had intended. "Perhaps more than you let on." He added with a smile. "Point is, she needs you now more than she ever has, and she needs your understanding."

Robin nodded and looked down again at the tombstone, still fighting the awful memory in which his whole life had come to be. Again he could taste the irony. If his parents never died, he would have never met Bruce, which meant he would have never become Robin, and he'd have never met Raven. Robin shuddered at the thought that his parent's death's may have prevented the death of his best friend (and possibly prevented an apocalypse) and he hated himself for conceiving such a thing. But the truth was, he couldn't imagine his life without her, whereas he'd lived most of his life without _them._

"Well Dick, it was nice talking with you again. You should really keep in touch more. And it wouldn't kill you to visit," Bruce said as he began to walk off.

Robin mustered a smile and said, "I will, and I really did mean _I was sorry_."

His words caused Bruce to stop in his tracks and look back at him, "I know Dick, I know." Bruce paused and looked away before meeting Robin's eyes again. "Oh and by the way, Dick. Remember when you see Raven, _it isn't about you."_

"What's that supposed to mean?" Robin asked in a confused manner.

"You're a smart kid, you figure it out. I'm not always gonna be here to talk you off the ledge," Bruce added before slipping off into the shadows.

 _I guess something's never change,_ Robin thought to himself as he watched his mentor vanish. He looked back to where his parents lay, the aura of death somehow lingering over him like a cloud of ominous smoke.  

After a few moments he collected his thoughts and turned back to the path that led him to the place he stood now. Through seeing Bruce and getting caught up in the past, he'd almost forgotten why he'd come here in the first place. _To remember why I was angry._


	3. Damaged

It was absolute chaos as she waited in the common room alongside those of ill mind and thought. There were sounds of unprovoked screams and faint sobs that went unnoticed by the hardened orderlies and nurses, who made such a feet look easy. Raven gazed out the window into nothing, in an attempt to follow their lead. This she found to be a lot harder a task then she'd anticipated. Her thoughts were filled with an array of frustrations and calls for help that flooded her mind, threatening to devour her. She tried hard to numb her herself to her surroundings, but the constant anxiety of the _emotionally unstable_ , unwillingly clawed at her, begging her to set them free from their pain.

 _How can I cure others when I can't even cure myself?_ She thought bitterly in her best attempt to cope with the unsuitable and barley humane environment.

No matter where she looked the sights that displayed themselves were only a bleak reminder of her reality. From the woman who rocked herself alone in the corner, to the young man who threw fits if anyone tried to touch him. These wild displays of madness were only among the many that manifested themselves around her. And as much as she wanted so greatly to just ignore their confused pleas, (just as their caretakers did) she couldn't; though she tried desperately. The sad truth was as much as she wanted to help them, she couldn't, not now, not here. She was trapped and physically incapable. Her mind and body had endured too much and was going into over drive to repair itself. This meant Raven's abilities were stunted, and the only thing they were capable of doing was the one thing she wished they wouldn't; causing her to be in tune with others unbridled emotions and physical pain.

Still she kept her eyes fixed out the window, longing to escape into the world that went beyond not only the glass, but even further. A faint reflection gazed back at her through deep eyes that were filled with hopelessness, lost in the deception which was her life. The girl who stared back at her was only her reflection, only the perception the world would permit itself to see. _This is how the world sees me now,_ she thought in a grim moment, _as a girl ruled by her own madness._ Making the revelation, Raven pulled her knees even tighter to her chest in a moment of self-defeat. She had never intended on surviving her attempt to end her own life, and now that she had, she'd have to suffer the consequences. Such as being involuntarily committed to a psychiatric hospital.

She'd spent the previous week in a medical hospital where she was treated for what would have been permanent kidney damage, if it hadn't been for her powers (which were still hard at work trying to heal the damage). The hospital was also the place where the doctors and nurses found the numerous cuts that plagued isolated areas of her flesh. Along with long faded scars that told a long tale in which a tragedy was born. This, along with the circumstances of her admission, gave the doctors enough ammunition to have her involuntary admitted to receive treatment at a psychiatric facility on the out skirts of town. In which they disclosed that her stay was _indefinite,_ until doctors felt she was no longer a danger to herself. Raven, of course, was very upset. She'd been in a coma for the first two days, and in and out of consciousness for the next three. Even when she was able to maintain consciousness, she was hardly coherent. So when she finally realized where she was going and for God knows how long, she became emotionally volatile and, somewhat violent. This not only frightened her friends, but made them even less disagreeable as to her new living arrangement.

She could still see the looks on their faces as she literally had to be restrained and sedated (for fear she may hurt herself or other). Starfire, of courses, was deeply disturbed by this, and ran out of the room crying in dismay at her friend's arctic behavior. Cyborg looked shocked and somewhat afraid of her as he helped to hold her down while a doctor administered a drug called _phenobarbital_ , a commonly used sedative. During this struggle Raven had unknowingly ripped the IV needle out of her right wrist, (which later received stitches.) Causing her to bleed heavily and mortify everyone in the room. All the while Beast Boy sat speechless in a daze of disbelief at the sight of the most _level headed,_ and _practical_ person he knew, acting like a complete lunatic. As for Robin, he wasn't there to witness Raven's, _"mad scene"._ He couldn't bring himself to face her, especially after he'd witnessed her suicide attempt.

For this, Raven was grateful. She hated that of all people, Robin had to see her play the role of _Ophelia_ as she fell from her willow branch into the brook below. But to see her in a state of utter mania, that would have just been too much for her to take. She already felt guilty for taking away his reality and replacing it with her own twister version. And now, after spending years trying to protect him from it, she'd officially failed him.

Her eyes were still fixed on her refection, plagued by her thought which was hazy from the drugs she'd been given earlier that day. Though their hold on her had mostly worn off, she still felt as though she was living in a daze. Her image seemed to stare back in a vague trance as another image came into view from the doorway behind her. One she recognized, but did not expect to see. At first she thought it was her imagination (or the drugs) wreaking havoc and conjure the figure. But when she turned to face the doorway, she found it was not empty ans saw Robin stand in her plane view.

The two only stared at one another for a moment before either dare move. Raven could tell not only by his body language, but also by his unmasked eyes that Robin was extremely hesitant. She'd expected this, but to see it was far more difficult than she'd anticipated. Finally, Robin moved forward and entered the room. It was almost as though he were wearing blinders as his eyes were fixed on Raven and didn't seem to notice the overwhelming amount of impropriety that filled the room around him. This surprised Raven. She'd already been there a week and was still shocked at how disturbed some of the people were. As he got closer, she turned her eyes down in a shy attempt to disappear. She hadn't realized until now how embarrassed she was, or how much she felt like a failure. And now, she had to face the one person whose opinion actually mattered to her.

Once Robin had reached her, he pulled out the vacant chair and sat down. He placed both his elbows on the table and rested his strong chin on laced fingers like a perch. Raven's eyes remained locked on the floor, she couldn't let hims see what vile things lay hidden within them. They remained silent for a moment as they were both too afraid to speak. One out of fear of saying the wrong thing, and the other, out of fear of what she couldn't say. Finally, Robin composed enough nerve to part his lips, though it was clear by the sound of his voice he couldn't hide much.

"How are you, Raven?" he said, his voice shaky with emotion.

Raven then looked up. She still fought to keep their eyes from meeting as she didn't want him to see how wounded she was. Nor did she want to see how badly she'd wounded him.

"I've been better," she grimaced in a lower monotone than usual.

Robin felt his chest tighten at the sound of her voice. It was filled with anxiety which made it sound fragile and weak. Not to mention she could hardly look at him.

"I know," he replied looking to the window for refuge, but it only offered the same view as it did Raven. "So how is your treatment going?"

This question made Raven laugh, something she'd not done in over two weeks. However this wasn't as much a laugh of humor as it was of irony. "What treatment?" Her smile was slightly disturbing.

Robin looked puzzled, confused as she played with the bandages that bound her wrist. He couldn't help but take her bate when he asked what she meant.

"It's pretty simple," she sighed carelessly, "I have not received any treatment since I've been here."

She faced him finally, only giving him a quick glint into her eyes. The sight caused him to glance down and he tired to push forward.

"That doesn't make any sense? You have to have at least talked to someone?"

"Well let's see, I haven't talked to anyone since I got here about my um, _"treatment,"_ but I have however been weighted three times and informed that I'm underweight, which would be useful if I were here to be treated for an eating disorder. But if you count the endless amount of pills that are forced down my throat on a daily basis, then maybe I am receiving, _"Treatment"_ after all," Raven patronized, fighting to keep her voice down, but hardly succeeding.

This alarmed Robin to see her so easily wound up. Raven noticed this, not just by the unsettled look displayed on his face, but also the wild mix of emotions that heated his empathy.

"Raven, maybe it just needs a little time," Robin reassured in an attempt to calm her down.

"Yeah, cause a week just isn't long enough."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, something that was of normal for her, but here it meant she was shutting down.

"Raven, do you even really understand why you're here?" Robin asked in slow a manner, and though he tried not to sound condescending, it appeared to him that he did.

"I'm suicidal, not stupid," she answered sharply with a harsh tongue and facial expression to match, 

_Same thing,_ Robin thought, but resisted the urge to respond with such bitterness. Though he could tell that Raven knew what he was thinking, but replied with tact anyway. "I know that Raven, but seriously you're here because you need help and I…"

"Stop, just stop," She said cutting him off, "Please just stop."

"Stop what--what am I doing?" Robin asked confused, trying to hide his clear frustration.

"Talking, just stop talking," she replied, trying her best to hold back the tears that were moments away from falling.

Raven could feel how angry he was at her, though he tried his best hide it. Yet hearing him trying to hold back such a strong emotion only made it harder to handle. Knowing that no matter what, she could never remove that image from his mind, which only cut her deeper.

"I can't handle this."

"Handle what?" Robin asked trying not to let his emotions get the better of him, which was proving very difficult at this point. "Listen Rae, I'm trying really here to not say the wrong thing, which I'm obviously doing... So I don't know? What am I doing wrong?"

"You're talking to me like I committed property damage," Raven said bluntly.

To which Robin simply replied. "What?"

Raven paused and placed her head in her hands while Robin tried to comprehend the situation.

"Okay Rae, listen I get it. You're upset. You clearly hate it here, I understand how…"

"No! You have no idea how I feel right now!" the empath corrected sharply. "I feel like I'm drowning--I always feel like I'm drowning! And nobody understands that putting someone _like me--_ in a place like this--is only setting me up to fail!" 

Raven's little outburst caught the attention of the other patience, leaving Robin a little embarrassed. Raven too noticed the many sets of mad eyes upon here and  tried to calm herself down for what little self-preservation she had left. Not to mention she didn't want to be restrained, or cause another scene in which she not only proved her madness, but justified her involuntary admission.

"Alright that's fair, but I'm trying, Raven. I really am." His was calm, trying his best to not overwhelm her. "Just help me understand."

Raven took a deep breath and looked up to the ceiling to collect her over stimulated thoughts. She looked back to Robin who was now looking her straight in the eye and this time wasn't going to back down.

"Your right, I'm sorry. I'm not in a good state of mind right now." She ran her fingers through her hair, which was becoming a bit over grown. "I just don't know if I can do this. I don't want to be here."

A lonely tear ran down her cheek, its solemn nature leaving Robin with a heavy lump in his throat at how lost she sounded, "I know Rae, but that's why you're here--to get help."

"Richard, look around. Does it look like anyone is getting any _help_ around here?"

Robin sat up straight and began to look around the room as though his blinders had been removed. His face fell once he noticed how dysfunctional their surroundings were. Never before had he seen people deliberately pulling out their own hair, or talking to themselves in disturbed riddles of the mentally ill. The sights seemed to overwhelm him just enough for Raven to notice, and she felt a bit of shame wash over her.

"This is nothing, believe me. You should see one of them have a tantrum," Raven said pulling his attention back in her direction. Robin only looked at her with a questioning face as she continued, "These people that you see; they're _incurable_."

Robin's eyes filled with horror as he looked at Raven, who was still playing with the bandages on her wrist. He didn't want to think of Raven as, _"incurable"_ or even see her cataloged with such severely disturbed people.

"Don't say that, you not _incurable._ "

She didn't look up at him, unwilling to believe that wasn't as damaged as she thought. 

Robin noticed her defeat as swallowed her whole, "Raven, I'm sorry... I'm sorry you're here and i can do anything about it."

Raven could feel he'd meant his apology, and though he was still angry with her, she knew he really did want to help.

"The worst part is I can feel their confusion, and anger, and God only knows what," she said staring at the wall, "Their pain is constant. I'm losing my mind." 

She looked over at Robin as her eyes pleaded with him to take her away choas, but he couldn't, and if given the choice he wouldn't.

"That sounds awful, is there anything I can do?" He asked attempting to bridge the gap between them.

"You can get me out of here." Raven said quickly.

"Raven, I can't do that. You were admitted by the HSE officer _involuntarily._ I can't get you out until you've finished your treatment." 

"You mean the treatment that doesn't exist," Raven sighed, wiping away the tears that fell freely down her face. "So I'm basically trapped here."

"Listen Rae, I'm gonna talk to someone, see if I can at least get you transferred to another hospital or a different ward," He said trying to console her and give her a shred of hope to hold on to.

He hated seeing her like that. It was as if someone had taken everything she had to live for and just shattered it. But Robin had one more play to help ease her pain. He picked up a bag he'd brought with him and placed on his lap. Raven's eyes glancing over with curiously.

"I thought you might be bored here, so I brought some of your books."

He knew how much she loved to read and if anything could lift her spirits, it was a good book. Robin placed four books down on the table in front of her and continued to add that he was informed she could only have two of the books at a time.

Raven looked at the four tomes before her; one was a book of short stories and poems by Edgar Allen Poe that she was very fond of. Also a smaller brown hard cover that was written in the early nineteen hundreds at the end of the Victorian era filled with poems by English authors such as; Alfred Tennyson, Anne Bronte, Oscar Wild, and Elizabeth Browning. Raven pondered taking this one, and was very tempted to. But it was a first volume collection that had been out of print for far too many years and she wasn't fond of the idea of losing it. However, there was one particular poem by Alfred Tennyson she so desperately wanted to read called _The Lady of Shalott_. Raven loved this poem and could say with confidence that it was her favorite, especially now that the poem applied to her life more than it ever had. Still she decided against picking the book, reminding herself where she was, knowing that to have something even remotely valuable around would be foolish. Instead, she picked a collection of Bram Stoker's short stories, including _Dracula's Guest_. This particular volume was not worth much, only being printed within the last decade, so it could be replaced if need be. The last book Robin brought her was the old classic _Rebecca._ One of the few books she owned that was written after the ninetieth century. However, the book was still very old, being written by Daphne du Maurier in the late nineteen thirties and was among its first publications. But what made Raven hesitant to take this one was not a matter worth, but a matter of attachment. This book belonged to her mother and she would've been heartbroken if anything happen to it. With that realization, Raven once again found herself left in the company of her dear friend _Edgar._

Once she'd chosen her books Robin pulled out what looked like a notebook or a journal. It was a black hard cover book of a reasonable size, with an adhesive bound spine.

He placed it in front of her and said in a clam voice, "I also brought you this journal. I thought you may want to write down your thoughts."

Raven picked up the journal to examine it. It had a bit of a weight to it, with a fine paper that bared pale gray lines to guide ones free hand. She looked up at Robin, knowing he'd put some thought into his gift, and for the first time in weeks felt a genuine smile grace her features.

"Thank you Richard," she said, making Robin smile in return.

"You're welcome." Robin then reached into his pocket and held up a small pack of crayons in front of her. "And it gets even better, because you get your very own box of crayons," he said, his voice laced in sarcasm.

Raven raised one eyebrow and stared at Robin and then looked at the crayons.

"For real?" she asked in her own cynical manner which Robin was more than happy to here.

"For real," he responded setting them down in front of her, and continuing his reasoning, "You're not allowed to have any pens or pencils. I asked if you could have a sharpie, but they said that it could be used as a weapon." (Though no thought as to how made any sense to him.)

"Yeah, I'm scarred just thinking about all the horrible things one could draw on my face," Raven drawled sarcastically, taking the crayons in her hand.

She opened the box to find in all six crayons, all primary and secondary colors. She hated the idea of having to use such juvenile tools to write with, especially in such a nice journal. Still, she knew it was this or nothing, though for a moment nothing seemed a little tempting.

Robin gathered the two books Raven had forfeited and began to place them in the bag when he heard Raven speak again.

"Have you ever read any of those authors?" she asked in a distant voice, causing Robin to stop.

"No, not really--why?"

"Because they might help you understand me better," Raven replied, still distant, but not too far.

Robin remained frozen for a moment, as he tried to find the right arrangement of words to say, but nothing very profound came to mind. He placed the books in the bag and slowly got up from his chair. He then moved to Raven's side as she still starred out the window. Robin looked out at the filthy pane of glass, noticing not only his reflection, but Raven's. Hers was vague and still, her pretty eyes peering deeply into something of great distance, of which he could not see, but wished he could.

"Raven, can I ask you a question and do you promise to be honest?" he asked looking into her eyes through the window.

Her expression was blank and her voice void, "I have nothing to lose."

Robin took this as a green light response, or at least he hoped it was and asked his question anyway, "Do you regret anything?"

Raven turned from the window and faced him, looking up into his clear blue eyes, her amethyst ones filled with bitter honesty, "Only that I failed."


	4. How the Hell did I get here?

**This entry has been taken from the journal Raven Roth**

**(Originally kept in short hand)**

**Journal entry #1: How the hell did I get here?:**

That is the question I have constantly been asking myself, and (to my surprise) it's not a _simple_ answer.

To be honest, I'm not even really sure where my path of self-destruction even began, but I can assure you, it was obviously destructive enough to land me here, of all places. I mean, never in my life did I think I would be sitting in a psychiatric hospital (where I'm not even allowed to use a pencil) writing down my most personal thoughts in _fucking crayon._ (I mean really?) It's moments like this when I realize that I actually have nothing left to lose, because I've literally lost everything, not because I attempted suicide, but because I _survived it._

When people attempt to take their own lives' there's a backlash, and people no longer see you as having any credibility. They also tend to think you only did such a thing out of a need for attention, which in some cases is true, but not all cases. In my case, I truly did want nothing more than go to sleep and never wake up again. However, that didn't happen. So now I must suffer the consequences, because I technically _committed a crime_ and must be punished for it. What's that punishment you ask? The complete and total loss over the rights to my own body, because I'm clearly not responsible enough to make decisions for it any longer. Instead, I'm now heavily medicated to the point I can hardly hold my crayon without shaking, and I can't even take a shower without someone sitting in the same room with me (because I'm apparently going to attempt to drown myself? (I mean how?) Also the water is tepid at best, because apparently people like to burn themselves. Thanks to whoever tired that, by the way. You're a real peach.) I've also lost any shred of dignity I had left (though most of that happened when I was throwing that little fit in hospital) along with any trust my friends once placed in me, because in the back of their minds, they'll never fully trust me again, especially Richard. He will always go back to that moment where he saw me lying on the bathroom floor, only inches from death. But the sad truth is, all of that is _my own_ fucking fault. I let my destructive tendencies take over my life and because of that, I've lost so much more than I ever intended.

You would think that I've learned my lesson from this. That I've come to my senses perhaps? Well, you would be incorrect, because I feel even more defeated now than I _ever_ have. Not to mention I've lost all credibility among all those of sound mind. And to make matters worse, I not only proved my madness, but I've let it completely embody me in ways I've tried so hard not to. To say the least. I am far more a danger to myself _now_ than I have _ever been_ at _any_ point in my life. The worst part is, now my friends have seen the bleak truth I've kept from them for years. They now who I truly am.

In general, I kept my madness well hidden behind the closed doors of my room and buried it the darkest parts of my mind. I used meditation as a form of self-medication and that work for a very long time. It kept me centered and focused on my behavior, and it reminded me to think things through before acting on my emotions--I was always in control. However, the meditation only helped to keep me numb, which was exactly what it was intended for. That was the only way I could stay in control, but ironically, that numbness would also become my undoing.

I grew up being trained not to feel anything, which I now realize was probably more damaging than anyone had anticipated, because I never learned to deal with my emotions. So when I finally escaped from Azarath I was bombarded with them, all coming at me from every direction. Everything from happiness to the purist form of hatred, all falling around me like a plague of locusts. So heavy to the point I thought I'd suffocate. With enough meditation I was finally able to gain control over myself, but I now had a taste for human emotion. And I knew at that moment, my life would become far more complicated than it ever had. In that moment, I could feel my control began to slowly slip out of my hands.

Now for most people control is something that is taken for granted, because if they lose it, the repercussions are not as high a stake as they are for me. For example; if most people lose their control over a situation they normally go through a slight depression, feel a little self-pity, talk to their friends, possibly feel a little embarrassment for letting things get out of hand, but they move on, and they learn. I on the other hand; well, if I lose control over my emotions then all hell breaks loose-- _literally._ My dark side takes over (not even exaggerating) and I go into a black out state where I have no idea what I've done, but I know it is evil at its core. Because that's what I am. No matter how hard I work to change that, it's just what I am. Evil. When I lose control over myself, I only feed my father's never ending influence over me, and there is nothing I can do to loosen his grip. Not even by sending him back to the Hell he came from. And I know most people may not understand this, but I would much rather die of my own volition than _live another day under his._

This is the reality I live with, to know that I'm not free and I never will be. My friends think they can help me, but they can't. I can only try to protect them from what I am, but it seems I couldn't even succeed at that. I know they've seen my dark side before, and they even know about _Nevermore,_ but I don't think they completely understand what it truly is. _Nevermore_ is in all essence my _soul-self,_ meaning that it's not just inside of me, _it is me_. It also means I'm directly connected to my father and he is an everlasting part of me. _Nevermore_ is not just who I am, it's where I live, and I don't want to _drag them down here with me._

Along with the loss of my self-preservation, I've also lost all responsibility, which I'm even more reminded of seeing these words written in purple crayon. Each letter becoming more dens as my crayon grows dull from the force with which I write. Because of my inability to stop my hand from shaking, my hand writing is even more childlike than I ever thought possible, and this is almost fitting since I now feel like a child. It seems not only am I suicidal, but I've digressed. For example; my current situation of not being able to even have a pen because I can't have any objects I could possibly use to harm myself or anyone else. Apparently, I'm not even responsible enough to be trusted with it.  Also, I can't have an object that I can fit in my mouth for fear I might choke or try to hide an object that could be used as a weapon (sounds like something you tell a child, right?). I can't make basic decisions for myself either. I'm told when to wake up and when to go to bed, what pills to take and when to take them, and I'm even when to eat. I cannot be left along unless I need to use the bathroom, and even then I need permission. Still, I'm not even truly alone, I have to be escorted there and while I'm in the bathroom _my escort_ waits outside the door just in case anything happens. Among other small injustices, the only comfort of the outdoors I've had is from the comfort of the window I'm sitting by. However, it's only a cruel reminder that there's an outside world beyond this place, one which some here may never see again. I just hope to God I'm not one of them.

I do have to say through all this I do miss my friends, though I'm not looking forward to seeing them again. Just the thought of looking them in the eye and knowing they see me for what _I really am_ , sickens me. To try and put that feeling into words is difficult, but It's something caught between guilt and anger, sitting in the pit of my stomach with no sign of vanishing. Looking back, I can say that I've caused more damage to those closest to me, the ones I tried to protect, and I don't know if I can ever repair that.

I keep thinking back to all the times Richard tried to help me and I only pushed him away. Not out of cruelty or anything of that nature. It was only out of fear of him loosing that sense hope that kept, not only him, but all of us going. It actually hurt to watch him leave today, especially because I know I've corrupted his world. To see his face fall at the every sight of me, felt like the twist of a sharp knife in my heart. I know as much as he wants to help me, he equally resents me, and how could he not? I have, after all, burned images into his mind he will never be able to erase.

I can also assure you that my fall from the subliminal willow branch was not graceful, nor was it romantic by any means. Unlike the illusions we are painted by artists who portray lovely young women throwing themselves into rivers, under starlit skies to profess their love or whatever _idiocy_ they sold you. I know to those who find the idea of suicide and self-destruction _romantic,_ may find this hard to believe, but suicide--is _not_ pretty. It's actually quite the opposite. I can assure you, at no point, did I have flowers in my hair, or a lovely look upon my face, or anything other than my own indiscretions to lead me to this point. That idea is only but a delusion people cling to rather than face the truth. Suicide is _permanent,_ and you don't come back from it. And to be honest, I don't know if I can come back from living through it.

So, to conclude; the answer to my question is not simple, but the answer is, _me._ This, is all _me._ I got here because of _me_ , because I lost control, and as much as I would love to blame everyone else--but myself--I can't. The irony is everything I did to this point was just a desperate attempt to stay in control, and I clearly don't even have that now, do I?


	5. Hope Again

The trip home was spent in a foggy daze of over whelming thoughts, leaving Robin bewildered in the vents of the past days. He just could seem to grasp it all, the facts, the words, the images--all if it just seemed unreal. Yet there he'd been, hardly over an hour ago, being searched to ensure he was not in possession of anything that could pose a threat to others. He witnessed hospital security guards confiscate a pair of ear buds resting in his coat pocket, along with his key change, and of all things, his wallet, because it had a belt chain attached to it. These simple objects only helped to solidify the reality of the situation. That what awaited him behind the locked door was very real. It would have all the characteristics of a nightmare, but the thought he was awake only drove the fear and anticipation deeper. And there was nothing he could do.

He couldn't get over the sight of her looking out the window, feeling alone and afraid, realizing he was helpless to guide her back. This only fueled the anger that hung in his throat, heavy with all the thing he wanted to say, but couldn't. He felt like he was looking at her as she sat in the crumbled ruins of her life, all the while his eyes peering from the window, keeping them apart.

When he finally reached the tower, he hesitated to enter for fear of having to relive all those painfully tangled details. Knowing he'd mostly likely be bombarded by inquiring teammates, wanting to know what they could about their lost friend. He could picture the looks on their faces, their eyes lit with a glimmer of hope, one he so desperately wanted keep lit, but couldn't--not at this time. He eventually coaxed himself into moving forward after looking out at the bay for an amount of time that had no concept. By this time the sun was going down and the rich colors of ember reds and strange yellows filled the sky, bleeding soft upon the water's mirror surface. He found himself looking to it for not so much answers, but a feeling of something familiar to hold on to. Something that held a shred of life before all this. Still as beautiful as the view was, it was also cruel, holding no shelter for him to run to, and drifted beyond the eye's ability to see.

Once Robin was inside, he took a long breath and walked the long hallway to the sound of silence, which surprised him. Normally the sounds of childish arguments could be heard as they echoed down the hallway, warning anyone who entered what they were about to walk into. This brought on a moment of relief, but quickly reminded him of how abnormal things had become as of late. When he entered the great room, he found it to be cold and empty, something he wasn't expecting to see. He thought for sure they'd be waiting for him, but they weren't. He crossed the large room and carried himself down the hallway. The silence was eerie and left a large void that hung in the air like a fading echo, his foots steps falling silent on the red carpet behind him. He thought about stopping to check up on the others as he passed their rooms, but didn't have the emotional stability to lend his support if it was needed at this time. Instead, he pushed passed each door and too the end of the hallway, but stopped short at the last door before his. It was something he'd been doing quite often in Raven's absence, but he could never bring himself to enter.

He was too afraid of having to face the ghosts, the ones that remained trapped inside the dark room with little remorse for his ego or regret. Still, he knew with a full heart they'd break from their confines and force him to see them again at some point--sooner rather than later. The lump stung hung in his throat, its bitterness painful and the taste coaxing him to moved closer to his rueful muse. Finally, he  gathered up his wounded pride and stepped toward the door. His nervous hands shook as he placed them against it, bracing himself for the backlash that waited him just behind it.

Upon entering the room his thoughts filled with the sounds of all the potentially broken promises he'd made her, and all the ones he already had. The ghosts screamed in their crossfire of furry as their voices echoed in haunting memories of raw emotion.

" _Raven, you can't you keep doing this to yourself! How could you do that to your body?"_

" _Don't you dare try to tell me what I, "can't_ _do_ " _with "my"  body, Richard!"_

The memory of their argument replayed in his head like a violent melody, filled with regret and words that could never be unspoken. He knew that even though he could never accept what she'd done to herself, he'd let his anger drive the situation to a height of which they'd only come crashing down from. This he'd realized only after their argument, and wanted to try and mend the torn fabric of their friendship. Raven meant more to him than anyone, and she obviously needed help. But yelling at her, and demanding her to stop doing something she was clearly ashamed of wasn't helping her off the ledge. If anything, it may have been the _push_ she needed.

"Oh my God, she was right," Robin said aloud, now sitting on her bed and looking up with glassy eyes, "I really did treat her like she committed _property damage._ "

Robin felt a bit of self-loathing rise up in his throat and sink into his heart where it ached in a dull grip, holding it like a vice. He wasn't entirety sure why he was even sitting there, but he told himself it was for the answers he was still looking for. Or possibly even that shred of hope that just refused to show itself--he found neither. All he could find was the sting those memories left behind, the things he wished he'd forget.

"You know sitting here in the dark isn't going to make you feel any better," said a deep, familiar voice from the doorway.

Robin looked up to find Cyborg leaning against the door frame with a worried facial expression.

"Hey Vic," Robin muttered through the facade he tried to throw up, hopping his friend woudn't see his vulnerability. However, a man like Victor Stone couldn't be so easily fooled. He knew how Robin felt without having to ask, just like he knew how he felt about Raven before Robin even had a clue. "So how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know you're not okay." The robotic man said in a short in a grim voice.

Robin paused and took a deep breath. He knew he could hide from Beast Boy and Starfire, but not from Cyborg. He was easily the big brother that none of them ever had, which came from his ability to understand people in a way that most people only dreamed of.

"So are you here to ask about _Raven?_ " Robin mused, looking out the window as the moonlight crept through the glass.

"Only if you wanna talk about it?" Cyborg responded, still waiting in the doorway.

Robin then took a deep breath and exhaled, "I just feel like… part of this is _my fault_."

Cyborg took this as a sign to enter the room and took a seat beside his wounded leader.

"Dick, we all feel guilty in some way about why Raven did what she did, but we can't blame ourselves. We can only try and support her through this." Cyborg's response came with a heavy voice, as he went into what the other Titans referred to as his, _"school counselor mode."_

"Yeah, but none of you yelled at her, or made her feel even worse about herself, none of you in--invaded her _privacy,_ " Robin said in defeat, "and I did that. I did  _all_ _of that._ That's not something you do to someone you love." He said forgetting himself, not realizing the words until they escaped from his lips.

Cyborg took a long moment to take in the words Robin'd released. He was well aware of the argument that had taken place between them, and why Robin was upset with her. And to be honest, Cyborg didn't blame Robin for his concerns. However, he did know Robin also had a bad habit of flying off the handle when the people he loved were doing things he felt were dangerous. And in Raven's case, she was doing a few things Robin found _very dangerous._ Still, Cyborg knew it was no excuse for him to lecture her about her problems, because at the end of the day, it wouldn't make her feel better about it.

"So did you tell Raven how you feel?"

"No."

"Listen Dick, I know you're probably sitting here thinking that you waited too long to figure out your feelings, and that know you've lost her, but there's still time. Raven needs us right now, but in truth, I think she needs you more than the any of us. She also needs to know that no matter what, we'll be there for her."

"I know that, I just don't know how help her." Robin whined at a loss.

"We show her _we love her_ , even after all this, it's all we can do."

"Do you think things will even be normal again?" Robin asked in a low voice.

"No," Cyborg sighed, "I don't, but maybe they aren't supposed to be. I know this situation is far more difficult than anything we've ever faced as a whole, but I think we can see it through, and be even stronger from it. My old man use to say, _"that even the worst experiences can makes us better people, we just have to be willing to learn from them."_

Robin smiled at Cyborg's ability to persevere, and found himself in awe of how someone like Victor Stone could possess robotic parts, yet was still even more _human_ than most flesh and blood people. Robin sometimes found himself wondering if it was the loss of his physical humanity that made him more human, or if it was just who Victor was. Either way, he was happy to know he could confide in him and not be judged for it.

"Thanks Vic, I really needed to hear that." Robin said with a weak smile.

"Well man that's what friends are for, to say what needs to be said," Cyborg responded making his way to the door, "you should do the same," he added before exiting the room.

Robin shook his head at Cyborg, and looked down at the bag of books Raven had declined. He reached down and picked it up, pulling one of them out. It was the book of poems from the nineteen century; he flipped through some of the pages and thought back to what Raven had asked. He'd never even heard of some of the authors before, and most of the poems had names of an obscure nature to hide impropriety of he age. He flipped to a page of a particular poem entitled _The Lady of Shalott._ For some reason the named drew him in, as though there was something there familiar to him. He closed the book and left the dark room, taking the tome with him.

Once he was in his own room, he sat down at his desk and placed the book down. He thought about the promise he'd made to Raven before he left the hospital. He told her he would help her and now he felt the need to come through on that promise. Even if it was the last thing he'd ever do. He turned on his computer, knowing that to come through on this he'd need help, and he knew exactly who to ask (though he hated asking _him_ for favors).

After he penned the letter, he signed and sealed it with every intention of sending it off in the morning. He felt that emailing his request would seem impersonal, and he knew he'd be taken more seriously if it was sent by mail.

Once he was finish, he laid back on his bed with the book in his hands. He flipped back to the poem that caught his eye and began to read the old lines of rhyme. As he read, a certain line from last stanza, in the second part of the poem caught his eye as it read, _"I'm half sick of shadows,"_ _said The Lady of Shalott."_ The line itself pertained to the fact that the woman in the poem was not allowed to look at the world _directly_. Instead, she was forced to look at it through a _mirror_ , the _reflections_ being the _shadows_ of the world. It also read that if she looked away from the mirror and at the world behind her, a curse would fall upon her.

Before finishing the poem, Robin sat up, realizing that a piece to the puzzle now rest in his hands and thought, _Is that how Raven feels? Like she is looking at the world through a mirror. That she can't live life on her own terms?_ The thought remained with him even after finishing the poem, which continued to reveal that the _Lady_ eventually looked away from the mirror and to world behind her. This caused the mirror to crack and break, signifying the world crashing down around her. It ended with her breaking the chain to a boat, (symbolically breaking the chain of life) and floating down the river where she later died as a result of the curse. She wanted everything she couldn't have, but went after it anyway, because in her mind, she'd rather die on her own terms then live another day under those of another.

Upon finishing the lengthy poem, Robin lay awake for a long while as he thought about what he'd read and all the ways it pertained to Raven. He felt now he may have a better understanding of her, or at least he knew more now than he had previously. After the passing of a few hours, Robin was finally claimed by sleep, escaping from the world for only a few hours, his mirror intacted.

* * *

  **The Following Poem Has Been Taken From the Journal of Raven Roth** **(Please read poem by column.)**

**Dressed in White**

I think I had a dream last night,

Of a black house burning in the moon light.

The flames that burned fulfilled my sight,

As a girl stood afar, all dressed in white.

 

The winter sky was filled with flame

As I walked along, the place of graves.

For a moment I thought of turning back,

From that place that smelled of brim and ash,

Which fell, from the sky like snowy black,

In silence, in this place unknown and brash.

 

Within this place I walked upon,

With nothing that I could hold on.

She who held her back to me,

Refused to turn and let me see,

The face of which I had no sight.

As it faced the fire that was burning bright.

 

Before the house there was a creek,

Though it was cold, and nearly black as ink.

Beneath it lay a sleeping girl,

One whose face I'd seen before.

 

She looked, back at me, with eyes of white,

As she did, no longer, possessed life.

Still with my hand, I tried to reach,

But the ice, had trapped her, underneath.

 

I then turned, to find in front of me,

The girl in white, was there with me.

Her hair was long, and violet stained,

And her face, was really, all the same.

 

For she looked just like the sleeping girl,

And she stood, out in, the white she wore.

In her hand, there was, a tarot card,

That told a story, from the stars.

 

She placed the card with in my hands,

Though burnt, from all, the time of sands.

I looked, to find, a gallows cross,

And a man, who hung, with life and loss.

For in suspense, his life it hangs,

and all, the while soft, the Raven sang.

 

I looked down, for, a moment when,

The girl looked down, to me and said,

"You see, the hang man is a fool,"

She spoke, sounding awfully cruel.

She turned her head, then spoke again,

"Fear death, by water, if you can."

 

It was then, she turned away from me,

No more her face, could now be seen.

The girl began to walk away,

Into, the winter night, she swayed;

As though she were, only just a

Shadow, in the lonely rain.

 

I turned, and looked upon, the face of mine,

That lay, beneath the, ice entwined.

These words, were left, to be my guide,

As I looked down, with my eyes held wide.

 

The girl who walked away from me,

As only just a part of me,

Though, a part, of me, I did not know,

But it seems, she's left me, here alone.

 

Her words, of which, I'd heard before,

And maybe now I'll fall no more.

Still I awake to find my life intact,

But wished I, could only, just go back.

****  
** **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't own Teen Titan, The lady Of Shalott by Alfred Tennyson, or lyric from written by Bella Morte. To those of you might be interested, I do suggest reading The Lady of Shalott, it might help give you an understanding of the story in a more in-depth way. Plus it's a beautiful poem.


	6. I Hear Nothing, but the Voices in My Head

**Part 1 of Journal Entry #2: I hear nothing, but the voices in my head**

Last night was, well strange on a few different levels. I'm still trying to make sense of my dream. I know I've heard _"the hangman is a fool"_ somewhere before, but I can't put my finger on it. Also, _"fear death by water"_ is that another subliminal Ophelia reference, or am I just losing my mind? (Probably both.) I just don't understand how a fictional dead girl can have so much influence over my life? It's almost funny in a way that the person I identify with most doesn't even exist--yet--she seems so real. Either way, it's just my mind _literally_ trying to tell me something I don't understand, and possibly never will. But hey, it's just one of the many perks of being me, right?

Anyway, I have an update on my status here and it looks like I wasn't forgotten about after all. This morning I was informed by a nurse that I'll be taken to the medical ward (which I will later explain) to finally meet my doctor. When I heard this news I was actually surprised, due to the fact I was beginning to think he didn't exist (much like my dear Ophelia). The nurse also added this had taken longer than expected because, due to the hospital being very "understaffed," my case had to be reassigned. After receiving this information, I find myself actually very nervous, mostly because I'm not really sure what to expect. I don't exactly know what meeting my doctor will be like or what can come out of it. I've heard stories from some patients that they've had great doctors who were understanding and helpful in every way. But I've also heard stories of complete horror shows as well. And if my doctor is anything like the shrink I got my sleeping pills from, then I'm in a lot of trouble. I'll take that dirt nap now.

As for the rest of the morning, I've spent most of my time anxiously waiting by, what I now think of as "my" window, looking out into nothing. My mind being fragmented with thoughts and questions that burned as they were hindered by medication. Dreading the fact that I'd not only have to face my demons, but I'd also be expected to trust a total stranger. I mean, I have a hard enough time trusting my friends--and myself--let alone someone whose name I don't even know. And I'm supposed to just tell this person all the very personal details of my life? The very things that drive me closer to the edge? Really?

At this thought I caught myself glancing down at my bandages and thinking of the secrets that lay hidden beneath them, though at this point the only person who thinks they're a secret is me. I've spent years not only hiding my madness from others, but also from myself, and even longer pretending I wasn't. I looked away in a moment of shame and pulled down the long sleeves of my black sweater to hide them fro view, concealing my unsavory memoirs. I pulled my eyes back to the window, trying to escape from the emotions that began to scream in my head.

You see, one thing nobody knows about me (or at least no body living) is, my emotions each have an individual voice. This is something I've dealt with my entire life and has driven me to the brink of insanity on more than one occasion. As a child they were faint, and well, I hardly noticed them, but the older I got, the more aggressive they became. Around the age of ten is when I started to actually understand what they were saying. I would lay in bed at night wide awake as they filled my head with jumbled arrangements of words and nonsense, but it was still enough to paralyze me with fear, to the point I couldn't sleep at night. For a long time I never mentioned the voices and just endured them, hoping that maybe they'd just stop, but they never did. Another reason I never mentioned it was because everyone was already _deathly_ afraid of me and I didn't want to give them even more reason to look at me like a monster.

Still, in time it progressed to the point where I couldn't even think because of the agonizing pain I was in. But also my powers began to almost erupt to the point they fell out of my control. (No surprise there.) Because of this, I was no longer able to hide my new found abnormality, and later found out (after having my first of many mental breakdowns) that these voices were, "only my emotions." And the reason they became so volatile was because I was unknowingly, "feeding them." In this case, because I didn't understand how to deal with them, I'd only been fueling them with fear and anxiety. This only provoked emotions such as; fear, anger, sadness, panic, and hate to wreak havoc on my mind. Needless to say, my attempt at sparing those who already looked at me like a threat from yet another reason to fear me, only led to even more fear and more caution used when dealing with me. I soon found myself spending even more hours in intense training and mediation sessions in an attempt to teach me to control my emotions, which clearly had a stronger effect over me than anticipated. Looking back, I think I can say with confidence, that was where the battle over my mind began.

For years I meditated to keep them quite or at least to a dull whisper. There are very few moments when their voices are actually silent, so few I can actually count them on one hand. For the most part, I had a handle on them until about two years ago around the same time when my father tried to destroy this plane. Once again I found myself lying awake at night, much like the frightened little girl who was so afraid of what she was. It was almost like I'd hit a wall. Nothing I did worked to silence them, mostly because I couldn't silence myself. And at this point in my life, I had everything to lose and to lose to my father also meant I'd lose to _myself._ Then all the sleepless nights, long days of mediation, and all the days I wanted to just end it all, but convinced myself not to, would be for nothing. It was only after the ordeal with my father that they actually settled down for a while. But this was only because, for a brief period of time, I felt free, and well, that didn't last. I soon realized that though I'd made a huge stride in the fight against Trigon, he was still very much a part of me, and he would be until the day I died.

I found myself struggling with dark thoughts and doing anything I could to stop the voices from screaming to loud. Once again I found myself hopeless and depressed, a cycle I thought would never end. Richard of course noticed my unmovable state of melancholy and had a one on one intervention with me. I told him only as much as I could bring myself to, knowing there were somethings that were better left unsaid. However, I only told him about my inability to sleep, and that my emotions were tearing me apart. Though emotionally, I could feel he knew there was more I wouldn't tell him, and to a certain extent, he'd always been very respectful of my privacy. But at that moment I think he could see the cracks beginning to form along my stoic surface.

Richard being _Richard,_ of course, let me know he was there if I needed him, and that he'd support me no matter what I was facing. He then gave me the name of a psychiatrist he knew through the grapevine, which I accepted with no intention of ever going, until a few nights later.

I was alone in my room doing my usual starring at the ceiling, waiting for the sleep that would never come, while listening to my emotions scream to the point they became deafening. I hadn't slept in days, and when I did sleep, it was usually because I was so tired I'd just pass out from exhaustion. But for some reason I was far beyond this point and actually began to hallucinate. I literally thought my emotions were not only yelling at me, but they were also standing right in front of me, trying to pull me back to _Nevermore._ I remember them screaming for me to either fight, or give up, while others laughed about how they were taking me back to my father. (God I'm fucked up.)

Even though this was only a delusion, it felt all too real. I remember pleading with them and begging them to let me go, and just stop talking. At one point I felt two hands wrap around my shoulders and I looked up to see four red eyes, glowing under a red hood. At this sight my blood ran cold and the voices stopped along with everything else. I must have gone into a state of shock because I don't remember anything. I just remember waking up in the main room in a haze with a pounding migraine, my friends staring down at me with looks of fear and concern displayed across their faces.

Apparently, while I was having my um, "little episode" I was unaware that my powers were completely out of control, causing the entire tower to shake, and also everything in my room that practically wasn't bolted down, to fly from one wall, to the next. Of course this woke everyone up (and why wouldn't, though Beast Boy has proven he can sleep through an earth quake, no joke). And, no surprise, Richard was, of course, the first one to make it to my room where he found me huddled on the floor crying, and in a complete state of mania. Once he reached me, he placed both his hands on my shoulders to try and get my attention. Apparently when I looked up at him, he said my eyes when white, and everything just stopped, for one, full, second. Until the window behind me shattered. I was told after the destruction of my window, I lost consciousness, leaving Richard to clear a path through the shards of glass that scattered themselves around us like fallen ice.

During this lovely recap of how I almost destroyed the tower, I noticed I had a few fresh cuts on my legs. Nothing of a serious nature, but serious enough that Richard had taken the time to clean, and bandage them. I could see by the look on his face there was something he wasn't telling the others nor I, and I knew very well what that something was. I ended up having to sell them a story that I was having a night terror and I'd be fine with a little mediation, you know the same speech I always give them every time something unusual happens to me (which is often, sigh).

So due to the state of my room, and the ridiculous amount of glass that spilt itself across it, I obviously couldn't spend what little was left of night there. Instead, I had to use one of the spare rooms we had in the tower. Richard insisted he walk me there and with my head threatening to explode, I was in no condition to refuse. Once we were alone Richard closed the door and sat down on the bed next to me. I could tell by the look in his crystal blue eyes that he wasn't just making sure I was comfortable. I could see them taking on a stormy color, which only happened when he was angry or felt at a loss. He was about to speak and I knew every word that would fall from his lips.

"You're not going to tell the others are you?" I asked as though I were nothing but a frightened child.

Richard clenched his jaw and looked away for a moment unsure of what to say. I could feel both his sadness and anger boil as he tried to hold it down for my sake, but he still couldn't contain it completely as it slipped through his voice. "I want to, but I know if I do, you'll never trust me again."

I couldn't say anything and I didn't want beg or look even more pathetic than I already did. I just looked down at my hands, which at times were my own worst enemy. Richard reached out with his left and placed it to upon my offending right one, where he held it as he continued. "Raven, I won't say anything, but only under two conditions," he said in a stern voice, still holding my hand with his emotions practically electric upon it. "One, you have to see the psychiatrist I told you about, and two, you have to promise me _you'll stop."_

"Richard it's not that eas…"

"No, _promise me_ ," he said, cutting me off and tightening the grip on my hand. The look in his eyes begged for me to comply as they glassed over, casting my refection so I could see just how much my own actions could hurt someone who cared so much for me. All the while my voices cried and carried on in their ignorance.

"Only if you promise not to leave me alone tonight," I whispered in a moment of weakness.

"Are you really that afraid?" he asked as I could feel my tears starting to run down my face, only to find my pillow to catch them.

"More then you know."

Richard lifted his hand and placed it behind my head, then leaned in and kissed my forehead, where he kept his chin pressed and whispered with a muffled breath, "Then I promise to never leave you alone."

He released my head and pulled back and saw the tears falling down my face. It was then he once again lifted his hand and began to use his thumb in a gentle manner to wipe away my tears. His gaze caught my eyes and he began to lean in again. His thumb found my bottom lip where it remained there. For a moment we both paused, only but an inch from each other, and for that moment my voices were completely silent, but that was only a moment.

 _"Don't!"_ They all screamed in a horrid unison and everything went dark... again.

And once again, that was the last thing I remember before waking up the next morning or shall I say _late morning_ as it was now the crack of one fifteen in the afternoon. I pulled myself out of bed, still dizzy, but better balanced than I was the night before. Richard was nowhere to be found as I looked around the empty room and made my way to the door. I slowly walked down the hallway with only my emotions to keep me company, their whispering jumbles of words intertwined into nothing but madness. My first instinct was to make my way to the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea in hopes to dull the migraine that throbbed in my skull. But before I could make it there I found the rest of the team hard at work picking up the pieces of broken glass, and trying to organize my things to the best of their ability. At first they didn't see me, so I pressed my back against the wall and waited a minute, debating on whether or not I wanted to face them. Not just because of all the questions they'd ask, or all the half-truths I'd have to weave in order to keep my delusion from falling apart. I just didn't want to find out if they knew.

I came to the conclusion that I'd have to face them eventually, but that could wait until after I at least had a cup of tea. I waited until everyone had their backs turned and quickly moved to the kitchen which I found empty to no surprise. I took a deep breath and opened the cupboard and took out one of my tea tins. It was ginger, which I keep on hand for soothing headaches and other physical annoyances. As I waited for the water to boil I reached for my tea steep and filled it with the dehydrated ginger leaves, then added to the boiling water with approximately three sticks of cinnamon. Once everything was done steeping, I added one teaspoon of honey and let the contents cool. The only reason I even describe this, is because when I feel the way I've felt for the last week and a half, this is the first thing I'd do to nurse my wounds. And there is nothing I wouldn't give for just this small feeling of home.

Anyway, I'd taken a seat at the table while I waited for my tea to cool to a point I could tolerate drinking it, when guess who walked through the door. (If you guessed Robin you get a prize.) He was surprised to see me sitting there and by the look on his face, I could tell he had something he wanted to say.

"I didn't know you were awake, how you feeling?" he said slowly with plenty of caution.

"Like I assume Gar felt after Roy dared him to put away too many tequila shots last Halloween," I said mustering up a bit of sarcasm, but it did hurt like hell.

Richard just smiled and set down the box of broken glass and took a seat across from me. "Do you remember anything about last night?"

"Parts of it, what happened?"

"You just passed out. I figured it was because you were exhausted. I stayed with you for the rest of the night to make sure nothing happened to you."

"Did anything happen to me?" I asked feeling a little guilty, knowing I was the cause of Richards's sleepless night.

"No, I just didn't want you to feel alone," he replied, making my heart skip a beat for more reasons than one. "Do you remember what we talked about last night?"

I paused, hesitating having to relive that conversation, which it was clear I was going to have to do and just nodded. I took a long sip of my tea to calm my nerves, while Richard remained silent for a few moments and began to speak again. "Good, because I called Dr. Quinzel and set up an appointment for you, on Thursday at three o'clock."

I remained silent for a moment and took in his words. I couldn't help but feel a little betrayed he'd taken it upon himself to do such a thing. I felt as though maybe he didn't trust me enough to take my word that I'd hold up my end of the bargain. I also felt angry at the fact he'd taken my control to make that _decision for myself_. Whether it was the right decision or not, it was my mind and body, and I did feel that what I did with it was my business. However, the only thing that kept me from telling him how I felt was the fact that as much I really wanted nothing more than to crush him, I knew he was only doing it for _my own good._

Richard looked at me for a long moment as I did my best to keep my anger at a standstill, so he couldn't see how much rage was boiling inside of me. Still, I as much as I wanted to completely lose it, I just put on a plastic smile and said with as little frustration as possible, "So Thursday at three o'clock?"


	7. Take the Pill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So in all honesty I did not really expect to write this chapter, it just sort of came out, but I think that is a good thing. Much like Raven's previous journal entry, a lot of it was written off the cuff, making the emotion a little more raw, and spur of the moment, and I think that makes them feel more authentic that way. One last thing, you guys may want to keep in mind who Raven's physiatrist is.
> 
> With love -Ophelia

> _"Pills fall like diamonds from my purse, Right out the hole in my fur coat, Straight down the gutter goes my antidote to a broken girl." -Natalia Kills  
> _

**Part 2 of Journal Entry #2: Take the Pill**

Thursday came sooner than I'd hoped, as I found myself standing outside this very building, thinking hard about running away and never stepping foot inside. However, I knew if Richard found out, he'd never trust me again. And even though he kind of screwed me over, he was only looking out for what he thought of in my best interest (though our views of what's in my best interest to differ). But, with a lot of self-reinforcement, and a lot of what ifs, I found myself in the waiting room by the stroke of two fifty-three. I stared up at the clock as it was ticking away, nervously waiting for my name to be called. Finally, after several painfully long minutes, the clock struck three and I heard a slightly obnoxious voice call my name.

I looked over to find a tall, pretty blond in her mid-thirties, standing to my right. Once she saw me look in her direction she began to walk toward me.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Quinzel and you must be Raven, it's nice to meetcha, doll," she said, verbatim, I'm not even kidding you. I was actually quite shocked. I was not expecting someone who was supposed to be a _medical doctor_ to sound like the girl from one of Beast Boy's favorite movies, _My Cousin Vinny._

"Hi," I said with a raised eyebrow, but kept my lack of enthusiasm.

"Well my dear, you can follow me and we'll get started. How's that sound?" she asked in her very flamboyant voice.

I rolled my eyes, "Just peachy."

"Wonderful, my little bird," she exclaimed in her heavy New York or Jersey accent.

Once we got to her office, she told me to take a seat on a small couch as she sat across from me in a brown arm chair. She began to ask me some questions as to my reasons for seeing her. I, of course, had to fight the urge to answer, _because my best friend is black mailing me,_ and responded with, "Because I'm tired of not being normal, I guess?"

The good doctor smiled and said in an almost curious way, "Oh, now why would y'say that you're not _normal?_ "

For a moment I paused and thought about how entertaining it might be to just tell this woman, I had never met before in my life, every last dark detail of how fucked up my life was. I mean how funny would that be to just be say, with a straight face mind you, "Yeah, my father is an inter-dimensional demon, hell-bent on destroying the universe, he raped my mother and she later tried to kill herself after she found out she was pregnant with me, but then she was saved by this group of pacifists, who worshiped this woman named Azar, who created a new world for them to escape from earth, but not my father, because he later destroyed them all, but I escaped and came to earth, but not before being conditioned not to feel anything, which means I get to sit back and not only watch everyone else indulge in their emotions, but because I'm an empath, I can feel other people's emotions, so this only makes my existence that much harder, because remember I'm not allowed to feel any of my own, but I get to feel everybody elses' emotions, and trust me, that is far more cruel than it sounds, now you're probably asking why can't I indulge in your own emotions, and the reason I can't is because if I do, my father will become more powerful, and that means I failed, and just that thought alone throws me into a devastating depression, and let me not forget about the voices in my head, because they themselves should be enough to drive me crazy and they do, and I know how sad all this is, and your probably wondering why the hell I'm still breathing, but that's only for the sake of my friends, who don't even know the half of it, because if they did, I couldn't live with myself, so I just lock myself in my room and hide along with all my dark secrets, one of which my best friend discovered, and threatened to tell everyone if I didn't talk you, so that's basically why I'm here." Now wouldn't that be something?

However, I decided to just go with the _Reader's Digest_ version, mostly because I didn't feel like getting committed to the psych ward, (yet here I am), but I digress.

"Well, I just feel like I don't fit in anywhere." It was true, I didn't and in all honesty, I still don't.

"Well, that's normal," she said with her lipstick smile. "That's actually very normal, plenty of people feel the same way, you're just one of many, doll," she continued in an almost patronizing tone, as though trying to diminish my feelings by saying _you're not the only one, get over it._

"Well isn't that ironic, guess I'm cured," I drawled very sarcastically.

Dr. Quinzel laughed and said almost mockingly, "Oh doll, you are _far_ from _cured."_

I remember there was something about the sound of her voice that made my skin crawl, and I didn't like the look in her eye. There was something about her I just didn't trust, yet for some reason I stayed. Maybe it was out of fear of what would happen if I didn't, or maybe I just didn't want to disappoint Richard, but either way, I stayed.

"Ya know, you look tired, do y'sleep well?" she asked in an almost flirtatious manner.

Still hesitant to trust her I responded, "No, sometimes I don't sleep at all."

"Oh well, that's what I thought. Now do y'have trouble either fall'n asleep or stay'n asleep?"

"Both, but mostly falling asleep."

"Alright, and how long has this gone on for, doll?"

"Um, off and on since I was about ten, but it has gotten worse over the last year."

She went on to ask me more questions about my sleeping habits, or in my case _lack_ of sleeping habits. She came to the conclusion that though my insomnia was chronic, it was not what she called a "primary case" and she said it was "secondary," being caused by another condition and went on to diagnose me with depression (which I think a half-smart middle-schooler could have diagnosed). Once the session was over, she picked up her prescription pad and began to explain what she was doing.

"Alright, my little bird, I'm gonna go ahead and write you a prescription for Trazodone, it's an antidepressant, but should also help you with y'little sleep issue, and Elavil's for your depression."

"But I thought you just said that the Trazodone was for depression, why do I need two antidepressants?" I asked her in a skeptical tone.

"Well, the Trazodone I want y'to take as a sleep-aid, and I'm prescribing the Elavil because it will also help with those pesky migraines you were complain'n about. Now the Trazodone, I want y'to take 50 mgs at night before bed. As for the other stuff, take 50 mgs a day to start off. Now, I wanna see you back here again next week at three. If your symptoms don't improve then we'll adjust the medication accordingly, okay doll?"

I hesitated taking the little pink slips from her hand. I felt if I took them, they'd be an admission of guilt that I really was crazy. But also, because I wasn't convinced that all my problems could just be fixed with a couple of pills. Not to mention, I really didn't trust this woman, and there was something about her I couldn't shake, but still, I swallowed my pride and took the slips from her hand.

Later that night, I pick up the medication from the pharmacy I'd taken the prescriptions to. The pharmacist told me that I should use caution while taking both prescriptions at the same time and suggested I only take them at night. He also told me that if I had an increase in suicidal thoughts to stop taking the medication right away and call my doctor.

 _I thought these pills were supposed to make want to kill myself less,_ I pondered to myself as I walked out of the pharmacy.

Once I was back at the tower I went straight to my room and headed to my bathroom where I began to read the printed labels. _Take one tablet once a day at night before bed,_ read clear across the label on the 50 mg Trazodone bottle. I opened it to find it filled with small, round, pale pink pills and poured a small handful into my palm. Their texture was smooth and chalky as I ran my fingers over them in a curious fashion. _So I guess these pills are supposed to be my salvation_? I thought looking into the mirror, almost waiting for my reflection to answer such a frivolous question. It was then I heard a knock at the door and poured the pink capsules back in the bottle and fastened the lid.

I heard Richard's voice at the door as I began to open it. "Hey Rae, how did it go?" He asked in a causal tone.

"She says I have depression," I responded in a cynical tone, "like I didn't already know that?"

"Oh Rae, I'm sorry to hear that…"

"Don't be, it's fine, just one more thing we can add to the list of things that are wrong with me." I turned away from him and fall on my bed in defeat, while Richard followed behind me.

"Raven, you shouldn't feel that way, there is nothing wrong with you," he said, trying to comfort me.

Again I found myself debating whether or not to share my giant run on sentence of a history, just to see the look of shock roll over someone's face. But decided I was far too tired and didn't want to force my depression on poor Richard, even though he did force me to go to see Dr. Quinzel, but again, I digress.

"I just feel like no matter what I do, I always come back to the same hopeless place, do you know how that feels?" I asked, not actually meaning for it to sound like a question.

"Yes..."

I turned to him in shock, his tone dull. I felt foolish for my reaction. especially because I knew I the things that Richard had been through were more than valid, but it hurt me to know he knew such an awful feeling.

"Like what," I asked finally overcoming my stupor.

"Every time I see Slade, I always find the same familiar feeling of hatred and resentment wash over me. I don't know what it is, but it invokes something in me that I can't fight," he said in a dark voice that sent a chill up my spine. "We all have our dark sides Rae, you're not the only one."

"Yeah, but my dark side isn't something that will ever go away," I sighed.

"Their not supposed to, Raven, that's why they're our _dark passengers._ "

"You've been watching too much _Dexter,_ Bird Boy." I shot him a slightly cynical grin.

Richard smiled and leaned back as he replied, "Yeah, but you read too much, _Bird Girl."_

"At least I can read," I shot back. We both laughed and I decided I was going to confide him. "If I tell you something do you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Of course, Raven. You can tell me anything and I'll never breath a word of it."

I took a deep breath, letting my mind linger on the words before I let them out. "She put me on antidepressants."

He looked at me and mustered a smile. "Do you think you need them?"

"I don't know, I've never taken them before, so I don't know what to expect, but I'm kind of afraid to."

"Why?"

"Because they might not work," I said looking down, "and if they don't then maybe that means there is no hope for me."

"Raven, I know this is scary, but this isn't the end of the road. If the medication doesn't work, then we'll find another way, I promise."

 _That's easy for you to say, Boy Blunder,_ I thought trying not to roll my eyes. "But what if it is?"

"It's not, stop saying that, it will all be fine," he insisted.

However, I was still skeptical. My entire life had been filled with the same amount of effort, all in hopes of ridding me Trigon's influences. But I have come to realize you _can't cure your genetics._

Later that night, I was getting ready for bed. After I once again made Richard promise he would not tell a soul what I'd told him, especially about my new diagnoses. I told him that I needed time to come to terms with it and everything else that came along with it. He reassured me his lips were sealed and kissed me on the cheek and headed off to his room.

By now, I had just stepped out of the shower and the bathroom was filled with a heavy steam that hung in the air. I wrapped myself in a towel, and slowly wiped the mirror free of the moisture that clung to it, revealing my reflection. I couldn't help, but notice the look that was cast in my eyes, one that longed for anything that could breathe hope into my existence. I looked tired and worn out and well--I was. For seventeen long years I could feel myself sinking into an ocean of my despair, unable to tread and slowly growing closer to my final breath that never seemed to come. And now, in my hand, was a bottle of pills that was supposed to make all of that _better?_

I opened the bottle of Elavil and poured out two of the small yellow caplets and began to analyze them. They too were also round and roughly about the same size as my sleeping pills, except the texture of these were smoother, with slightly sharper edges. I also read the label that was printed on bottle it came from which read: _Take two tablets once a day._

"Is it really that easy?" I said aloud to no ear, but my own.

My emotions began to sir once again, asking echoing questions that started to spin out of control.

 _"_ _Are you sure you want to do that?"_ said one emotion laced with fear. _"What if they make you sick?"_

 _"_ _You're taking them because you are sick!"_ yelled another emotion in disgust as she mocked me, while another sneered in anger with, _"You can take them all you want, you'll never be cured!_ "

_"You're not even human!"_

This voice caused me to look straight up into the mirror where I could see my eyes fill with pain. Not only did it hurt to hear my own mind say such a thing, but what made it so much more revolting is that it's something I've always secretly feared about myself. That maybe, I'm really not human. The truth is I feel as though I lack certain aspects of humanity, and because of that I feel, I don't deserve kindness, or understanding, or even--love. I remind myself that I am, after all, _only_ half human, but I still felt as though that wasn't not enough. And maybe isn't not.

"Shut up, shut up!" I growled. "That's not true."

The girl in the mirror looked back at me and judging by the look in her eyes, she didn't believe me either. I took a deep breath and fought the urge to cry and fall apart, all to the point that it made my entire body ache. It's so hard to try with every ounce of your being not feel something as it burns so strongly under your skin that it practical tears through your flesh. Most people have no idea how hard it is to hold back everything and show absolutely nothing. I find moments when it all just becomes too much and I want nothing more than to just let go and free myself from this numbness. To just feel anything whether it be love or happiness, just something real and less visceral. Instead I'm trapped with fear and sadness, but nothing more than that.

I contemplated taking my frustration out on myself, sense it was the only way I could feel anything, but thought about my promise to Richard. I told him I would stop, and I intended to keep that promise, just like he intended to keep his.

I looked backed down at the medication in my shaking hand and with one last desperate breathe, I accepted them as a possible solution. With a quick swallow, I took them and thus officially accepting my madness as my reality, hoping they'd pull me from sea of my denial.

After taking both the Trazodone and the Elavil, I found that within a period of twenty to thirty minutes, I became dizzy and very disorientated. My voices still sounded off, but they became far more faint with every minute as I began to drift off. For the first time in, I don't even know how many years, I was actually able to sleep soundly without even waking up. In fact, I slept so well, that I actually slept right through the sound of my alarm clock, until I was finally able to be pulled from my near comma and managed to silence the unwelcome sound. I sat up, but quickly became over come with a bit of dizziness and found myself very light headed and slowly laid back down. I couldn't help but feel a bit lethargic as I laid in bed for a few long minutes, trying to overcome the fogginess I was consumed with. I slowly sat up again and attempted to stand up, but stumbled, losing my balance and fell to the floor. After a few moments, I was finally able to pull myself up and slowly made my way to the main room.

Everything was cloudy, as I didn't quite have a sense of reality. Once I made it to the main room I noticed the rest of the team going about their normal business. At first they did not notice me as they were engrossed in their newspapers, video games, and one sided conversations that fell on a deaf ear. I motioned to the kitchen to make my usually cup of tea. I remember opening the cupboard and reaching for one of my tea tins, but not having the coordination to do so in an accurate manner. It was then a loud crash could be heard throughout the room, causing all eyes to fall on me, after I not only dropped a tea tin, but also a mug, which shattered as it hit the floor. And, to no surprise, everyone's fell me with a startled fashion.

"Oh Raven let me help you with that," Richard said, as he made his way into the kitchen to assist me with the cleanup, leaving behind Kory, who'd been attempting a conversation with him.

"Friend Raven, are you all right?" she asked looking in my direction with her big doe eyes.

I paused for a moment as I found it a bit difficult to speak. I wasn't really sure why, but I was having a little more trouble than I expected processing her question. That's when Richard looked at me puzzled, but soon realized I must have been on my _new medication_ and answered for me.

"She's fine, right Rae?"

I nodded and slowly began picking up the broken ceramic pieces. Though I found myself getting distracted, looking down at the fragments in my hands, not really sure what to do with them.

"Dude, you look high, did take too much Nyquil again, Rae?" Gar asked, taking time out of his favorite past time to observe my odd behavior.

"I don't know?" I said confused, not just in response to Gar, but to everything around me.

"Hey Rae, maybe you should go back to bed, you don't look too good. I'll bring you some tea and chew if you want?" Victor offered as he moved away from the sofa and toward the kitchen.

"Yeah Raven, I'll help you back to your room," Richard said, taking the broken fragments out of my hands.

"But," I paused and tried pulling my focus to respond in a functional manner, "but what about… my mess?" I asked through the fog that was clouding my thoughts.

Richard cupped my face in his hands and said in a soft voice, "It's not your mess, we've got it, okay?"

I nodded and he helped me to my feet with Victor's assistance. I could see the others looking at me just the way they'd look at a broken doll, as I teetered like a puppet on broken strings.

"Easy Rae, we've got you," Victor reassured me.

As Richard began to walk me back to my room, I could hear the others talking about my unusual state.

"What was that?" Gar blurted out, causing Richard to look back at Victor.

"Keep it down, Grass Stain, she'll hear you," Victor scuffed

"Hey, it's not my fault she has been acting even more freakier than ever!" he exclaimed, "and can she even hear me?"

"I do agree with friend Gar, Raven has been exhibiting very odd behavior lately, do you think she is in need of our assistance?" Kory added, but with more concern.

I couldn't believe they were just talking about me as thought I wasn't even there, but I couldn't even began to defend myself. One, because I was certainly in no condition to do so. I could barely hold myself up, let alone win an argument with Beast Boy, which is really fucking sad that I was not even capable of such an easy victory! And second, I wanted to know what they thought of me, if they really did look at me like a monster or a broken doll. _Who_ was I to _them_ , and did they actually trust me?

"Listen guys, I know she hasn't been herself lately, but we'll talk about it later, okay?" Victor finally commanded as Richard glared back at them through his now masked eyes.

When we finally got back to my room, Richard sat me down on my bed, he and asked me where I kept my pills, then went into the bathroom and came out with the bottles. He began to ask me how many I took and when I took them. I was barely able to answer and in frustration, he called both the pharmacy and Dr. Quinzel. Once he had reached the _good doctor_ , he explained my condition to her in detail. She apparently told him that the dose must have been too strong and instructed him to tell me to cut my dose of Elavil in half and to keep an eye on me for the next couple of hours, but ensured him I'd be fine once they wore off.

Soon after this, Victor came in with a cup of tea he'd prepared for me and some eggs with a side of toast.

"Here this should help you feel better, kid," he said then asked Richard if he could speak with him in the hall. I could barely hear them, but I could make out enough to know Victor was voicing his concerns about me.

"Listen man, I know you are trying to protect her, but there is clearly something wrong and I'm not gonna just sit back and watch her crumble. You owe us some answers and we need you to tell us."

It was after that Victor's voice fell silent and I could hear his footsteps fall, and fade into nothing. Once they could no longer be heard the door opened and Richard came back into the room. He knew I'd heard a good amount of the conversation and tried to explain, but I wouldn't let him.

"You--" I paused as I tried to get out of bed, but lost my balance. Richard caught me as I looked up at him and continued, "--You can't tell them."

"Raven I have to." He said sitting me back down on my bed.

"No, you don't," I said feeling helpless, I couldn't bare for them to know I was seeing a physiatrist or that I was now on medication for a condition I was not quite ready to accept. "You promised me you wouldn't tell them. That was the deal," I said with what sounded like a drunken slur.

"Raven they'll understand and I'm only gonna tell them about you seeing a psychiatrist and the medication, but nothing else, I promise," he said in his best effort to reassure me that all of this would be fine, but that wasn't good enough for me.

"Liar."

"Excuse me?" he responded in a shocked tone as he looked back at me.

"I called you a, _liar_ , Richard," I said knowing how much such a simple word could hurt him, but I couldn't find the will to _even care._

Richard then tried to defend himself, but once again I would not allow it, as I told him to leave with what little strength I had. I wasn't sure if it was because I'd finally had enough of him calling the shots in my life, or whether it was that I felt I'd finally had enough of him using my weakness against me. But either way, I was not about to hold my tongue any longer.

"Raven, I'm only trying to protect you! _Everything,_ I've done, has been for _your own good,_ " he said in his defense.

"My own good?" I replied, feeling my blood almost boil at his ignorance. "Get out."

"Raven, please…"

"I said _get out_!" I yelled, which clearly startled him and caused a vase to shatter behind him. "And take your _good_ with you," I sneered and let myself fall back upon my bed.

I could feel how badly I'd wounded him and his anger towards me, both out of spite and frustration and even some out of _pain._ I could also feel his hurt, which was strong and fueled by, _love?_ I felt my anger almost soften, yet boil because he was hurting me out of _love,_ though he didn't see it that way.

Later that night, I awoke from another long sleep, it was about ten o'clock at night and everyone in the tower was fast asleep. My fog had for the most part passed, and I could hear my voices starting to increase their volume. I soon pulled myself out of bed and moved to the bathroom, where I took a very long shower and thought about my situation. I knew by then, Richard had mostly likely told the team about my depression, which was being treated with medication and prayed, to any god that would listen, that he'd left out the more intimate details of my situation. I wondered if they would look at me differently or even treat me differently because of it. It was clear by what I'd seen earlier that day, they'd already been talking about me behind my back. I also couldn't help but wonder how much Richard hated me for calling him out on his broken promise and to be honest, I didn't care if he ever tried to help me again.

After my shower, I once again looked at the girl who resided in the mirror, but this time, I didn't even bother to look into her eyes, as I knew their ruefulness too well. Nor, did I wish to argue with the voices in my head as I opened my antidepressants and took them, remembering to only take _one_ Elavil. I knew I wasn't dealing with my problems, but once again, didn't I care. I just wanted to go to sleep without my voices, without my guilt, and without my madness, and that's exactly what I did.

This may not have been the push I needed to throw me over the edge, but a piece of me did die that night, just as a piece of me does every day. Everyday, I bury a newly deceased part of me alongside the other once living fragments of who I am (or who I was) to lie and decay. Infecting me with the same illness that's killed me a hundred times before. And tomorrow, that illness will subdue another dying piece of me. The question is, how long before there are no more living parts of me left to die? How long can will take for me to die?


	8. As the Reasons Die

**Journal Entry #3 As the reasons die:**

I have many reasons as to why I do what do and these reasons have ultimately helped shape me into what I have become. Now the question is, _can I overcome them?_

That is the question my new doctor has me facing and after meeting with him I have a lot to report. Shortly after I'd finished my entry from earlier, one of the nurses approached me, followed by one of the orderlies who she introduced to me as _Joseph_. He was a very tall, older man with a broad build, dark wavy hair and glasses. At first I found myself very intimidated by him as he towered over me in his great stature. The nurse explained that Joseph would be escorting me to the medical ward where I'd be meeting _my doctor_.

I was very nervous, not just because I was about to meet the person who could either make or break me. (Which if this doctor was anything like Dr. Quinzel I might as well take up residency here.) However, this was not the only thing that gave me an uneasy feeling. I'd never been to the medical ward and well, the term, "medical ward" sounds not only very sterile, but also very cold and unwelcoming. I think this has partially to do with my distaste for hospitals. I've always had an under lying fear of them, which I think has to do with both my empathic abilities and my interest in classic horror and literature, but mostly my empathic abilities. In every hospital you will always encounter heavy, overwhelming emotions, these emotions can vary from the type of hospital one may find themselves in, or even the given circumstances taking place within them. In the case of a psychiatric hospital there are not only strong feelings of sadness and loss, but also fear, anxiety, self-loathing, frustration, a strange sense of neuroticism, obsession, depression, aggression, indiscretion and above all else--hopelessness, just to name a few (or all) of them. The sad part is that most of these emotions aren't even genuinely mine. They belong to my fellow patients who can't help but press their unstable emotions upon me. I'm aware they don't know any better and even if they did, there is nothing they could do to stop it. I am an empath, I attracted people who are in need of a "healing touch". However, here, I'm in no place to offer any assistance, even if my powers were functional. The only thing they're any good for at this point is picking up the more radical emotions of others, and I have to say that's more of an inconvenience in a place where people almost feel _too much_.

In any case after the nurse left, Joseph showed me to the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor. The first part of the elevator ride was a bit awkward, I was of course doing my best to be as shut down as possible and I think Joseph felt sorry for me as he asked me out of nowhere, "This is your first time in a hospital isn't it?"

"Is it really that obvious?" I responded, not taking my eyes off the illuminated buttons.

"No, not to most people, I've just been here long enough to see it." He said in his low base voice.

"Anything else you can see?" I asked not really thinking of what I was saying.

"Yes."

"Like what?"

"Like, the food here isn't very good." He cracked a smile and looking over at me.

At this I couldn't help but laugh, which I now realized was Joseph's intension from the get go. As it turned out he is actually a very kind man, with a well, rather odd sense of humor, which helped me feel more at ease with my surroundings. He went on to describe to me in some detail the way things work around here. One of which is the floor lay out.

There are in all five floors; the first floor is basically used as a counseling center where people can be treated on an outpatient basis and seek professional help. This is where I use to see Dr. Quinzel, so for the most part I was aware of the business that goes on there.

The second floor is for rehabilitation and is what's known as the "open unit." Though ironically Joseph has told me that all the doors are locked, but back to the point. Patients there are considered low risk and are mostly there on their own admission. The idea behind the open unit is to create as close to a normal environment as possible to make the patients transition into the next step of their recovery more successful. (I bet their allowed to have pens.)

The Third floor is used for crisis stabilization. This floor is where they keep the patients who are considered a danger to themselves or others. Such as; those on suicide watch, or are suffering from psychosis and even prone to fits of rage. Also I've noticed some of these patients are extremely damaged due to neglect or abuse they've suffered. Whereas other have just refused to take their medication and are now in a complete state of mania and must stay there until they are mentally stable enough to be transferred to the open unit. It is because of factors such as these, that these patients are considered dangerous and is the reason the floor is very secure. This floor also has an "isolation ward," where they keep some of the more extreme patients. I myself was kept in isolation for the first few days of my stay. You are basically placed in a room with pretty much nothing, but a bed, a table and no door. I was not allowed any visitors because they felt I was too unstable to handle them (and they were right). I was also not allowed to leave my bed unless I was to use the bathroom and was watched or looked in on constantly. I have since been moved to what is known as the "medium ward" which means I'm still a threat to myself, but I have come out of the more extreme end of it. This floor is known as the crises unit and is now my current home address. (Lucky me.)

The fundamental difference between these two floors is that those of us in the crisis unit are what I like to think of as _"teetering on the edge"_ and that is exactly what we are doing. For example I could not promise that if given the opportunity to jump off the subliminal ledge that I wouldn't. In fact I'm pretty confident I would and I think that most of the of my fellow patients would say the same in one way or another. Whereas the patients of the open unit have either come off the ledge or have lost their will to jump. Unlike I who is still very much peering over, waiting for the right moment to fall and all I can do is wait and see if I can morally be talked down or lose my will to jump.

The fourth floor is known as the "medical ward," it is where patients are taken to receive medical care if need be. This is also where they preform neurological treatments such as; transcranial magnetic stimulation, vagus nerve stimulation and what is probably the most popular, Electroconvulsive Therapy, better known as ECT. For anyone who is unaware of what ECT is, it's administered by using electrical current to induce seizures for what is known as "therapeutic effect" though it's mechanism of action is still unknown. It is commonly used to treat bipolar, depression and other mood disorders, and even schizophrenia on occasion, thought the remission rate for schizophrenics is very short term in most cases. There is still a lot of conflict on the effects of ECT by experts in the psychiatric community; this is mostly due to the high risk side effects and unknown mood of action. If you're wondering how I know so much about ECT, it's because Dr. Quinzel suggested that I consider looking into it as a possible option to treat my depression. Though I never really considered ever having the procedure done, I did look into it, but decided the risks were too high and the success rate to low. Not to mention my condition has everything to do with my biology and unless they make a pill for, "my father is the devil," I don't see there being much of a cure.

Now I know that I said there were five floors, but now that I recall, Joseph never told me what the fifth one is used for. I'm not sure if he just forgot or if he maybe ran out of time to tell me what goes on up there. However I did notice that there wasn't a fifth button. I wonder what that's all about?

Once we arrived in the medical ward, Joseph checked me in and told me to take a seat while I waited for, "Dr. Graves." _Dr. Graves,_ I thought in a moment of dark humor, _isn't that a bit ironic given the circumstances._ I took a seat and waited for whoever had the fun filled task of having to explore the manifestation my madness. I couldn't help but flashback to my pervious experiences waiting for Dr. Quinzel down on the lower floor. Wondering what half-baked advice she had for me during our _much anticipated_ sessions, and how she would find a new way to make me feel ashamed of myself. Or even better try to increase my medication.

After a period of 10 minutes, which felt like an eternity, a man appeared from the hallway and approached me. He was kind of young looking and was roughly about the same age as Dr. Quinzel. In my head I'd pictured a much older man, armed with a clip board and a bad attitude because he'd clearly been doing this job for far too long, but that just wasn't Dr. Graves. He was tall with blue eyes and dark, shaggy hair and to my surprise, I actually found him attractive. I guess at the least if he can't help me then at least I'll have something to look at. (Great time to start thinking like a teenage girl Raven.)

"Raven?" He asked, once he was a few feet away from me, I slowly raised my hand in disbelief.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Graves and I'll be handling your case from now on." He said in a pleasant voice and held out his hand.

I took his hand as he gripped mine in a firm hand shake and muttered a, "nice to meet you" then followed him to his office, where I assumed I'd be encouraged to share my most personal thoughts. The walls of the medical ward halls were stark white, with little color and just as sterile as I'd imagined. While we walked these cold hall ways, Dr. Graves began to ask me some generic questions about my stay, and how I was feeling. I really didn't respond to his questions and mostly just answered with; "It's ok" and, "I've been better." You know the usual brush offs I tend to use, since I'm not really one to over share. Once we got to his office he told me to take a seat as he sat down at his desk and opened my file. After a moment he looked up at me as I sat quietly, looking away from him still withdrawn and very distant.

"So Raven, can I get you anything, like coffee for tea?" He asked with a slight smile.

 _Tea?_ I thought, snapping my attention back to the doctor. "Tea would be nice." I said accepting his offer.

"Alright, I have earl gray or English breakfast?" He said as he walked over to a small cabinet off the left hand wall.

"Um, early gray please, with just little bit of milk and sugar." I said in a soft, shy voice, but relieved that I'd get to indulge in one of the small, mundane luxuries of my day to day life.

Dr. Graves smiled and began to prepare my tea. A as he was doing so; he began to ask me a few more questions.

"So you were being treated by Dr. Quinzel?" He asked rolling up the sleeves to his dark blue button up.

"Yeah, I started seeing her last year, but I stopped a few months ago." I replied, as I looked around at the white walls around me. His office was very basic and cold, only possessing the bare essentials such as; a desk, filing cabinet, a few chairs and a small refrigerator. I couldn't help but wonder if the lack of personality was a direct reflection of Dr. Graves, or if he just liked to keep things simple.

"Why was that?" He asked, as he poured a thin stream of milk into a mug.

"Because I think she was trying to kill me." I said forgetting myself, and clearly not thinking my answer through.

Dr. Graves stopped what he was doing and looked at me for a moment, as it was clear he was not expecting my answer to be so odd or bold for that matter.

"Um, that was a joke, but um, I didn't really trust her and to be honest I don't think she ever really helped me." I said trying to recover from my momentary lapse in judgment.

"You seem a bit uncomfortable may I ask why?" Dr. Graves inquired while handed me the cup of tea I requested.

It was then I noticed he had a rather large tattoo on the palm side of his right forearm, of an anatomically correct human heart, and from what I could tell, had a clock, marked in roman numerals, burned into it. I know it sounds gruesome, but in its own garish way, it was actually quite lovely. The image was very detailed and looked to have been executed by someone of a high caliber. I could tell just by these factors that it wasn't some random doing; it had been well thought out and obviously represented something very important to him. A meaningful scar for something he chose not to forget.

"Nice tattoo." I said which caused him to look down at it a bit embarrassed. He then rolled down his sleeve and began to move toward his desk.

"Sorry about that, I try not to let my patients or fellow colleagues see it." He said in an apologetic fashion.

"It's fine, it's really well done, how long have you had it?" I asked a bit more inquisitively then maybe I should have let on. But I knew there was a story behind, in fact I could feel it.

"Um, a long time, so you stopped seeing Dr. Quinzel, did you consider seeing a new doctor?"

"No."

"Why was that?"

"Because I hate shrinks, nothing personal." I said taking a sip of the god sent that was my tea.

"None taken, I'm not a psychiatrist, I'm actually a psychologist." He said looking up with a slight smile.

"What's the difference?"

Dr. Graves gave a small laugh and began to explain, "Well a psychiatrist has a degree in medicine, whereas a psychologist has a doctoral level degree in phycology."

"So you can't prescribe medication?" I asked, in a curious voice.

"Nope."

"Good." I responded in a short manner, causing Dr. Graves to raise an eyebrow. "So then if you're not a psychiatrist then what do you do?"

"I personally, am a clinical psychologist, who specializes in the behavior of adolescents and young adults. My job is to observe and diagnose, then upon my findings provide treatment to help my patient become more aware of their well-being."

"In a nutshell?" I replied in my usual tone, not taking my eyes off him.

"In a nutshell," he said with a nod and cracking a smile, to which I lightly smiled back.

"Why is your office in the medical ward?"

"Because I'm here temporally, with the hospital being as under staffed as it is I'm only here short term." This explained why his office was so basic, and lacked personality; he wasn't going to be inhabited for long.

"So how long have you been a psychologist for?" I said taking another sip of tea.

"You asked a lot of question," he said with a look of disbelief, "you don't trust me do you?"

"No, I don't." I said in a low, but honest voice.

"Why, is it because you don't trust many people?" He asked as I now realized he'd just turned the tables on me and now I was at the receiving end of his questions.

"Um, I guess I don't, but I have good reasons for it."

"I don't doubt that you do, but I want you to know that you can trust me and I'm not here to judge you." He said in a reassuring voice.

The problem with his statement is that in all honestly his job is to judge me, that is what he does for living, he judges people. Though he may do it out of fact from information that he's gathered from his patients, and though his opinion may be professional, it is just that, an opinion. The difference is his is backed up by a _doctoral level_ _degree_ and clinical knowledge about human behavior. Also his opinion of me will determine whether I go home and how long I'll have to stay here. I'm not saying his opinion is not valid or worthless; in fact his opinion matters more than mine, and that's actually very frightening to think about.

"How am I supposed to trust you when I don't even trust myself?" I asked without thinking as though my answer was instinct.

"So you feel as though you can't trust yourself?" He asked, writing something down in my file.

"Hey, you didn't answer my question, how do know I can trust you?" I asserted.

He laughed a bit and said in a humored voice, "Because everything you tell me is confidential and I can help you learn to trust yourself."

"Do I have to learn to trust you over night, because we just met and I don't like to rush into things?" I said jokingly, but I was serious, I really couldn't just bring myself to trust someone I didn't know.

"Of course not, I can see trust is something you don't take lightly, and my job is to help you understand that. You just have to let me." He smile and continued. "So tell me, what is your relationship like with your parents?"

"My mother's dead."

"Oh," he said with a shocked expression on his face, "I'm so sorry, it didn't say anything about your mother in your file, how long since she passed?" He said slightly embarrassed.

"There's a lot about me that isn't in that file," I said short. There was a slightly uncomfortable pause between us. I Think Dr. Graves was a little embarrassed about my statement and wasn't trying to make me feel like number. I took a deep breath and said closing my eyes, "And she died when I was about 14 years old, but I really don't want to talk about it." I sigh, trying not to relive the memory.

"Of course, we don't have to discuss anything you're not ready to." He said with a very concerned look in his eyes. However I felt that there was something about my dead mother that struck a cord with him and led me to believe he may have understood me more than he wanted me to know.

"And while we are at it, I **_don't_** want to talk about my father either." I said, shooting down the idea before it could even have a chance to take breath.

"No problem." He said quickly.

"Ever." I said sternly, even though I knew that both my mother and my father have a lot to do with the way I am. I also realize that by not facing it for as long as I have, has helped to shape me into the mad girl that I am today, but I don't know if that can ever be fixed.

"Alright no parents, but if you change your mind…"

"I won't." I said cutting him off. Oh how bliss is ignorance right?

"Okay, then," He took a deep breath and wrote something down in my file again. "So why do you feel you can't trust others then?" He said moving the conversation forward.

"Because whenever I do trust someone with something that I…" I paused and took a deep breath, trying to find the right words, "I just feel like when I share something with someone, I'm giving them a piece of myself and then they use that piece against me. If that makes any sense?"

"It makes perfect sense, you feel betrayed by those you trusted with your secrets," He said pointing out the obvious, "but do you also feel as though what hurts you the most is that you like they're using your weakness against you?"

 _Holy shit! Did he just say that?_ I thought, _did this guy just completely understand my metaphor and not miss the point!_ "Yeah," I said very surprised. It's not often that others understand my bazar metaphors in their complete form.

"You look shocked?"

"You actually understood me?" I muttered, still a little dumfounded.

"Yeah, I'm actually good at my job." He said with a smirk. "So you feel like those you trust with these, _"parts of yourself"_ use them against you, how so?"

I was still a bit shocked, but gathered myself, and answered his question. "Like for example my friend Richard found out about my," I paused again because I didn't really want to say it, in fact I haven't even had the nerve to write it in any of my journal entries.

"Raven are you alright?" He asked with a concerned glare in his eyes.

"He found out about something I'm not particularly proud of." I stated, trying to recover.

"And what would that be?" Dr. Graves asked knowing I was clearly trying to hide something he thought was rather important, (and it was).

I tightening my posture, "I'm gonna go ahead and plead the fifth."

"Yes, but if you ignore it, it will never get better and if it doesn't get better then you can't heal." He said in a grim voice.

"I'm aware of that, but I'm not ready to talk about it." I insisted and I wasn't. I'd spent years hiding this part of me from everyone I cared about (except for Richard of course) and the truth is I hate it, I really do. Its manifestation is nothing I bear with pride and I fear other's reactions to it because I know it's wrong, yet at the sometime I'm also every protective of it. It's _my_ secret, for _my_ eyes only, much like these journal entries.

"Raven by not addressing it your giving it power over you and your letting it rule your life. I also know that it's a sensitive issue for those who struggle with it and I promise I'm not going to judge you." He insisted, looking into my eyes, which revealed to me that he could see right through the barrier, the one I hold up to keep people from seeing the more vulnerable parts of me.

"You already know, don't you?" I said, but it wasn't really as much a question as it was a statement.

"Yes I do, it's part of the reason you were admitted involuntarily." He said grimly, but more in reaction to the state of devastation I was clearly drowning in.

I could feel myself fall from my body as I was hit with a wave of reality and crashed hard against its rocky shore. Like I'd written previously, I had a suspicion that _my_ dirty little secret was by now only a secret to myself and I was right. I wasn't really sure what to say and I certainly wasn't ready to face it. Just the conformation that everyone I cared about now knew what I hid under my shirt sleeves and arm stockings was enough to make my emotions began to stir and sound off even louder.

 _"_ _What they must think of you now?"_

 _"_ _They are probably disgusted with you and what you did your body."_

 _"_ _Did you really think you could keep them the covered forever you foolish girl?"_

 _"_ _You're just like her, you know. Like mother, like daughter."_

They spoke, taking their turns to mock me at my very core. I could see Dr. Graves looking at me with concern as I was clearly having an inner crisis.

"Raven are you alight? He asked analyzing my facial expression and body language.

"See what I mean, everyone found out about my indiscretions and they used them to help put me here." I said stumbling over my words in defeat.

"No, you attempted to take your own life and that is what put you're here." He said very upfront.

"That was a bit harsh," I said a little shocked, but I couldn't really blame him for it. I know how stubborn I can be. I can say with confidence that I was not making his job any easier by beating around the metaphorical bush. "So you think I belong here?"

"I wouldn't say _"belong here"_ Raven, but you do need to be here for now." He said softening his tone, I could sense he was sorry for being a little too honest with me and confirmed it by saying, "And I'm sorry for my brashness, but you're a very smart girl and I know, that you know, exactly why you're here. I think you are logical enough to take responsibility for your actions and because of this I'm not going to treat you like a child."

I was taken aback by his statement and was a little surprised by what he'd just said. He wanted me to take responsibility for myself and he wanted me to be the adult he suspected me to be. This was a bit of a awake up call for me, mostly because I sort of realized that though I've always been very mature for my age, I've always had these parts of me that still had a childlike quality to them. Like some of my emotions for example; Fear has always maintained a very childish manner. Mostly because I don't think she ever really progressed passed the fearful little girl I used to be. I think this is because when I was a little girl, Fear and I spent a lot of time together. I was constantly reminded of what I was and also who my father was. So because of this, Fear always clung to the past and never really learned to overcome herself. This can also be said for Anger, though she is by far not as regressed as Fear, but she still holds the ability to throw tantrums, much like a child and handle herself in a very immature fashion. To be perfectly honest I myself as a very, _fragmented_ whole, have not acted like a, _mature adult_ in the past year to say the least, and I now realize that maybe I'm not the adult I think I am.

"Is it possible your giving me too much credit?" I asked.

"Only if I'm wrong, that you are in fact capable of taking responsibility for your actions and I'm confident that you are. So Raven, here's my question, am I wrong about you?" Dr. Graves asked as though he were challenging me.

I paused and looked away from him, I could either accept that my sense of self was lost and I could now attempt to fill the void. Or I could follow Fear's example and not progress beyond that frightened little girl who still couldn't sleep at night.

"I'm an extremely self-destructive girl. I do things to myself I'm not proud of and I hide behind the closed doors of my bedroom, so that no one can see it, but most importantly so that I don't see it. I took all my sleeping pills because I felt helpless and I was tired of feeling like my heart was being ripped out on daily basis. And I do want to get better, but I don't know if I can?" I said trying to put on a brave face, of which I just fell short.

"That was a very honest and mature answer and if you keep going in that direction you will get better." He said with a softened facial expression.

"So what happens next?" I asked in a dull tone. I wasn't really sure if I believed him, even though I wanted to, but I figured at this point I didn't really have anything lose.

"So from here I want to get you into a group session and I'm going to meet with you again tomorrow at about the same time and we'll work on getting to the root of your trust issues. I'm also hoping that by weeks end we may be able to have you transferred to the open unit. But don't quote me on that, because I'm not going to sign off on it till I feel that you're ready."

"Wow the open unit, so there is hope for me?" I said a little wide eyed and sarcastic.

"There is more than hope for you; you just have to want it." He smiled. "Well Raven I think that's enough for today, I'll walk you back up to your ward."

"Oh Dr. Graves, I have one more question for you" I said, as he rose from is chair.

"What, you haven't asked me enough questions for one day?" He said jokingly and smiled.

"Well, I just need to ask you this one thing, it's important I promise."

"I suppose I can let this one slide." He chuckled and began to move toward the door.

"Do you believe that a person can die more than once?" I said, knowing that my question was vague and very grim, but very valid. Because if Dr. Graves could understand this question without having to ask me what I meant or judge me for asking such a thing, than maybe he really could help me, and that maybe there really was hope.

He stopped and looked back at me. The look on face was different than any facial expression he'd displayed before and his eyes began to cast a murky empathy that provoked a look of memory with in them as he said, "Yes I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a little question for you guys and I really would like an answer. Now admittedly I know that as a character I tend to lean a little more on the comic book persona of Raven, but I do love the animated version as well, because as we all know she has more personality and that is why am trying to write her from middle of the two. Now the question is am I doing that? Can you see Raven writing her own journal entries and using the dialog I give her, or am I totally missing the mark? Please let me know what you guys think about that.


	9. Who are We

**(Letter Addressed to Wayne Manner to One Bruce Wayne**

**From One Richard Grayson)**

Dear Bruce:

I know I haven't written in a long time, but after seeing you at the cemetery the other day, I've come to realize that I've spent so much time trying to find out who I am outside of your shadow, that I never really consider who I'd be without having been there. It's because of you that I am strong enough to lead my team and it is also because of you that I am strong enough be a hero In the first place. I owe you more than I could ever repay you and for that, I thank you.

With that said, I must also inform you that I was not apologizing for the tears shed at the grave site. I know very well that even though you do frown on the idea of grown men crying, you also know there is an appropriate time for it. What I was apologizing for, was all the things I said and have not said in the past years. I know that as much as you will not admit to your wounded pride, that my leaving did hurt you and for that I am sorry. However, I am not sorry I left, because if I'd stayed in Gotham, then I would not be the person that I am today. And even though I am not perfect, I have gained a lot from my experiences and I wouldn't change them for the world. But most importantly, through those experiences I've also gained friends I would've never had the chance to know otherwise.

Which brings me to this, I need a favor. Now before you get mad and throw this letter in the trash, I meant everything I wrote before this. I really am sorry; I know I betrayed you and I really do appreciate everything you ever did for me. You were a father to me when I needed one most and now I need your help. You implied that Raven meant more to me then I let on and you would be correct. The truth is I don't know what I'd do without her, and I really want to help her, but I just don't know how. Last year I saw that she was struggling with her inner demons and I made her go see a psychiatrist. However I think my forcing her to go only pushed her further way from me. I was only trying to look out for her, and it's hard not to because she hardly ever looks out for herself. She's too worried about the rest of us and making sure that we're safe from her. I've told her time and time again that we're a team and we'll face the worst together, yet she still choses to face it all alone.

The sad thing is, there was once a time when she trusted me more than anyone. We'd talk on the roof of the tower for hours, just the two of us. I told her about my life before I ever knew you and she told me about who she really was, or at least who she wanted to be, but that all slowly changed. Before I knew it she began to shut me out. I promised her I wouldn't tell the others about her seeing a doctor or her depression, but after she began to take antidepressants, I couldn't keep those secrets without possibly hurting the team. I knew they were going to find out one way or another and they began demanding answers for her odd behavior. I know it was not my place and that betrayal nearly destroyed our friendship. I know realize I pushed her too hard. By trying to help her I only made her lose faith in me as leader and as a friend. I can't tell you the guilt I feel over her situation, she and I had an explosive argument the night she tried to kill herself. I said something's to her that I never should have, but to try and understand her reasoning is something I couldn't wrap my head around and to be honest I still don't. However,I still can't help but feel that maybe this is my fault or at least partially my fault. I keep trying to tell myself that it's not, but I can't say for certain that she wouldn't have done what she did if I'd just kept my mouth shut. That's just how I feel.

I know what I said was only out of concern for her, because I care about her and I hate to see her suffer. It kills me to see her in such pain, and I feel helpless, because I don't know how to save her this time. Normally I've always found a way to reach out to her before she sinks too far below the surface, but I'm afraid that maybe I let her slip too far this time, or worse, she just didn't want to take my hand.

Facing her for the first time was so much harder than I ever could've imagined. She looked so helpless and lost. All I could do was sit there and ask her if she understood why she was there. She actaully told me to stop treating her like she'd committed property damage and she was right. I didn't realize it till today, but now when I look back, I forced her see a psychiatrist and I lectured her about what she was doing to her body. And even though I still don't condone _in anyway_ what she was doing, I should've handled myself like a friend would. Instead I made her feel even more defeated than she already had. I made decisions for her that she needed to make for herself and all I accomplished was burning the bridge I worked so hard to build.

Before I left the hospital, I actually had the nerve to ask her if she'd regret anything, she told me that she the only regret she had was that she failed. When I heard her say that, I felt a piece of me die for her, and the thought that I may have helped push her there is too much for me to bear. Truth be told, I feel as though I'm the one who failed, because I _failed her_. Not just as a leader, but as a _friend._

I know you're probably reading this with great disappointment in my actions and even though I know it is too late to unmake my cold mistakes or erase the cruel words I said, I can't fail her again. I don't even know what I'm asking you for at this point, whether its advice or something that I can't find myself. But I need something to show her that there is hope beyond this point. So that she knows I'll go to the edge for her to bring her back.

I know I can't do this myself, and you're the only person I know I can turn to who may be able to understand what I'm feeling. I hate to say it, but I think that was part of the reason I left, because as much as I looked up to you, I also didn't want to become you and in my own way I did. I see more of you now that I'm older; it's in my obsessive nature and the words that I say. Sometimes I actually find myself afraid of how much I sound like you. I'm not saying that it's a bad thing, in fact I think I'm stronger for it, but I know it makes me blind. I grew tired of you controlling me and being who you thought I should be. I needed to find out who I was without you and I did that, but I also swore I wouldn't become you. Alfred once said that he thought we could survive anything, except maybe each other and I think he may have been right.

Part of the reason I left was because when I was in your shadow, I felt like child and I knew if I stayed there, then I'd never grow, because you would never see me as anything else. I know I'm still a kid, and I know I still have a lot to learn, but I did outgrow you. You taught me what I needed to learn from you, but then I had to find others to teach me what you couldn't and that is what I am doing now, _asking for help._

I have come to realize that I am the sum of many, I learned what it meant be hero from you, and Alfred taught me what it meant to be loyal. Here with the Titans I have learned that it is alright to rely on others and life is worthless if you don't have others to share it with. As for Raven, she taught me that we learn from many, that we are shaped by those we trust and those we don't.

So please Bruce, you are in every right my father and I am in every right your son and I need your help now more than ever. I can't fail her like I failed you. If you won't do it for me then do it for Raven, she needs your help more than I do.

Sincerely

-Dick

* * *

**(Entry taken from The Journal of Raven Roth)**

**Journal Entry #4: To be, or not to be?**

That is actually a really good fucking question. Yes it is ultimately a question of whether life is worth living or not, if it's worth the trials and judgments, that if in the end it is all worth it? But I feel it can also be interpreted as, to be who we are, a question of one's self. However in the end Hamlet never made a decision, someone else made it for him and I know how that feels. My entire life I was constantly told who I was, what I was to become, and who I had to be, but never did anyone once ever ask me, who I wanted to be. So now I must ask myself the same question, to be, or not to be? _Who am I?_

You know, it's funny how some conversations can never be forgotten and can hold such relevance of who we are. I remember this one conversation Richard and I had a few years ago. It had taken place after my father had sent Slade to give me that awful message and of course after such a traumatic experience I was unable to sleep for days. I couldn't help but feel violated; I was still quite young and had never found myself in quite that demeaning of a situation before, especially by a grown man. I would lay in my bed at night and whenever I closed my eyes, I'd flash back to the feeling of rough, uncaring hands, invasively grabbing at my body and tearing away at its boundaries. Exposing my flesh far beyond the comfort of my dignity, revealing my father's mark as though I were nothing more than his property.

In this state I could not even attempt to stay in my own bed, instead I would take a book up to the roof, where I'd read most of the night. On this one particular evening, the sky seemed to cast a strange shade of dark blue that gave the moon a more dramtic background to sit against. Its silver image lit the world in a vivid hue of midnight, while the stars hung in the sky in their most picturesque perfection. It was almost portrait-like as my eyes looked up to its unrivaled beauty.

I remember sitting up in the cool air, just looking up at the sky and thinking about how infinite it all was. Lost in the thought that maybe there was something out there that had all the answers and that maybe nothing really mattered. I probably could've stayed in this train of thought all night, just thinking of all the possibilities, if it weren't for a voice that called from behind me. I looked to the stairway to find Richard exiting the door that lead back into the tower. He smiled and began to move toward me and I remember actually being happy to see him as he sat down beside me.

"Well if it isn't the Boy Blunder." I said patronizingly, and then shot him a slight smirk.

"It's nice to see you too Raven." He said shooting me a grin.

"So what are doing up this late?"

"I'd ask you the same, but somehow I'm not surprised to find you up here."

"I couldn't sleep." I admitted, though it wasn't much of a secret. Richard had always been aware of my ongoing battle with insomnia.

"It's about Slade isn't it?" He questioned in a slightly darker tone. There was always something about his adversary that provoked such a darkness in him, one that you'd never know someone like Richard Grayson processed. And I know all too well how one person can drive you to the brink of insanity.

"Yes and no," I said a little uncomfortably, "I mean I still feel a little violated and I'm still quite shaken up, but I'm more afraid of what happens next." I confessed, but trying not to sound defeated. "So why can't you sleep?"

"You know why can't sleep."

"You're worried about me and why Slade came after me, aren't you?" I asked though I didn't really need to, nor did I need his nod of conformation. "I wish you wouldn't, I don't want to burden you with my problems."

He remained silent for a moment and looked at me. Even through his mask I could see his face fall as he said, "Raven we are a team and a team sticks together. I'm not just your leader, I'm also your friend and friends don't let friends, fight their battles alone."

"Did Bruce teach you that Bird Boy?" I questioned in a sarcastic tone, try to brush off his speech.

"No you did."

I looked over at him in disbelief, "When did I teach you that?"

"When you never turned your back on me or this team." He said with a smile that made my heart skip a beat.

Admittedly, when I first met Richard I had a bit of a crush on him, but quickly dismissed my feeling for several reasons. One because I knew that a boy like Richard would never fall for a girl like me and more importantly _they shouldn't._ I have little to offer someone like him, I'm almost incapable of feeling and I can't emotionally give him what he could emotionally give me. Not to mention Richard deserves someone who can make him better, whereas I can only drag him down to the bottom of my ocean.

We bantered back and forth about mostly nothing for a few hours. I honestly miss those days when we could just do that. Just talk about whatever came to mind and have him right there with me so I didn't feel so alone. Most of the time I'd just listen, while he told me about his life under the big top, long before he ever became Robin. It was within those conversations that I found out who Richard Grayson was.

At one point during this particular conversation, Richard began to tell me that he wondered who he would have been if his parents had never died and if he'd never met Bruce. He wondered if he would still be under the big top, among the ever changing faces of those who'd come or if he would be among those who'd gone. If he'd just be another face in the crowd, anonymously one of many moving through a sea of faces.

I asked him if that was what he wanted, that maybe part of him wanted something simple. He replied with the following:

"I know it sounds a little cold, but as much as I miss my parents and as much as I still love them, it kills me to know that if they were still alive, I wouldn't be where with you having this conversation."

His words seemed fragile and carried an echo of hurt within them, but at the same time I knew that he lived for what he'd become. That his life of trying right other people's wrongs made him stronger and gave him a place in the world. To be perfectly honest, I really don't think that Robin the Boy Wonder would ever be happy if he were just another. In fact I think he'd be nothing without it. Yet I couldn't help but wonder if the reason he craved the life he had was because of his parents. That because of their deaths, he needed to carry on trying to prevent what happened to him from happening to others. Or possibly because he simply he felt their deaths couldn't have been for nothing.

"So do you ever feel guilty for feeling that way?" I asked him in a soft voice, knowing that it was crossing the line, but I figured since he was being extremely honest with me, that it wasn't completely inappropriate.

He looked away and took a deep breath, I could feel a sensation of guilt run through his veins as he said, "Yes, I do. Sometimes when I think about them, I wonder if they'd be ashamed to know their only son wouldn't trade his life, for theirs." His tone was haggard and a bit broken. I could feel how much it hurt him to admit that, but I could understand why he felt that way.

"Somehow, I think they would understand," I said placing my hand on his shoulder, "Sometimes I think we forget that we can't change fate. Your parents lived their lives, they taught you to love and they gave you some great memories. But at some point maybe it was time for someone else to teach you what you needed to learn, so that you could become who you were meant to be."

I remember the look on his face as it fell into a state of shock. "I never thought of it that way, but it does makes me feel a little better about it. Does that make me a bad person?" He asked looking for reassurance.

"No, you're allowed to have your feelings there is nothing wrong with trying to make sense of your life and who you have become." I smiled.

"How do you know all this?"

"Because I'm still trying to makes sense out of who I'm supposed to become." I said looking up to the sky again, still waiting for the conformation that never came.

"I can help you find it, if you'd let me." He said reaching for my hand and taking it in his.

I remember my lingering feelings for him rushing to the surface. Normally I would have pulled away and buried them under the numbness, where they'd stay locked away. Though for some reason I let them linger, at least for the night.

"Thank you, but I think I need to find it on my own." I said remembering that by the light of day I'd be sinking my feelings for him and repressing any hope I had for us. Once again telling myself I only wanted it because I could not have it, and I'd only get burned in the end.

It was after that we ceased our conversation (this was not a negative thing, it was actually quite normal). We'd discuss what was on our minds and free our confessions that ate away at us, and then we'd just take it all in. Our silences were comfortable and even more so because this was one of the few times my voices actually fell silent. I don't know whether it was because for a time I actually felt safe or because I was actually being honest with myself, but I was able to fall asleep peacefully. So peacefully in fact, that both Richard and I both fell asleep on the every roof of the tower, still hand in hand.

However, the safety of the darkness drifted away, and light slowly crept in. Marking yet another day in which I'd have to bury my broken heart, deep within my memory, because that was all it could ever be. Hoping I'd forget the feeling of his hand in mine, knowing I could never have him. Not because I wanted to, but because that was just who I was, the girl who always wanted what she couldn't have. I knew there couldn't be anything more than that. That if I chased after it and looked away from my mirror, the sky I looked to would come crashing down and I'd once again bury my broken heart. But it was nice while it lasted.

 


	10. A Heart for a Heart

_Oh mother I can feel, t_ _he soil falling over my head_ _-The Smiths_

**Part 1 of Journal Entry #5: A heart for a Heart:**

Have you ever wondered if at one point in your life you could see exactly where you were headed before you were even able to see it? I know that sounds a bit redundant, but it makes a little sense. Then on the other hand, I am sitting in a psych ward, so maybe it only makes sense to me. (Well that's nothing new.) I only ask because today I think I sort of received a message from myself and I don't really know how to take it. However before I can really get into that, I should probably start at the beginning. So that if possible it makes a little more senses then it does right now.

I was once again taken to see Dr. Graves upstairs in medical ward and during our session he asked me about my condition and if I felt as though I agreed with it.

"What do you mean by, _do you agree with that diagnosis_?" I questioned in a suspicious tone as though it were a trick question.

"Do you agree that you have depression?" He said a little sarcastically with a, _I'm really not fucking with you_ , kind of expression on his face.

"Why does it matter if I think I'm depressed or not?" I asked with a sigh, "Plus last time I checked, I was a walking satire of Ophelia."

Dr. Graves must have been convinced I was crazy, that poor man. He just looked at me and grinned as he said, "It could be worse, you could be Lady Macbeth."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his witty remark, though it wasn't meant to be derogatory. "Ha-ha, that's was actually kinda funny. So tell me Dr. Graves, what Shakespearian character rules your life?"

"That's a good question, it hadn't crossed my mind." He replied looked up to the left, "If I said King Leontes would you walk right out of this office?" He joked.

"Yes, yes I would," I once again rolled my eyes at him, "but for real, which character do you identify with?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because you can learn a lot about a person based on which Shakespearian character writes their life." I replied sarcastically.

Dr. Graves couldn't help, but smirk at me as he said, "Ok um, Macduff."

"Really, the Thane of Fife?" I said a little patronizingly at his answer. I'm not really sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't Macduff.

"What? I like being the antagonist." He said in a defensive, but playful tone.

"Yet you're still oddly enough the hero." I shot back in a dry voice.

"Yes and I also serve as a figure of morality." He said, his voice filled with a touch of pride, yet he could barely keep a straight face.

"And don't forget the instrument of femininity." I replied, shooting him down of his subliminal pedestal.

"Oh, you did not just go there," He said with falsely wounded pride in voice.

"Oh, I did."

He then placed a more serious look on his face, and in an attempt to rein in the conversation said, "Well for real, I can relate to having to make those difficult moral decisions and having to choose between the lesser of two evils."

That struck a chord with me; I could defiantly understand how that felt, to have to choose between that fine line of right and wrong. I could also see how in his line of work, he may at times have his own morality tested, but also having to be the figure example of it as well. Like what he was doing now, trying to help me see that it is morally wrong to take my own life.

"So then if you're right and we can learn a lot about a person by who they identify with, then is it safe to say that you feel as though you're held to unrealistic expectations?" He asked.

I looked down, and the image of rushing water ran through my head as I thought about the question. I was amazed how Dr. Graves could take my observations and questions and turn them around to direct them to me. In fact it's a little unnerving.

"Yes, my entire life. I've always been told who I am and what I am supposed to be, and yet at the same time I'm supposed to follow this certain set of rules that is unrealistic for anyone to live by." I paused and took a deep breath and continued, "And well, I feel like my whole life I was set up to fail, right from the very beginning. In fact I think I was supposed to fail."

"Do you mean your father set you up to fail?"

"I said I didn't want to talk about him and why would you even ask me that?" I said raising voice, unable to pull back my anger. For a moment I thought that Dr. Graves had asked me that to be cruel, but I quickly remembered that though he was without a doubt correct, he had no idea what he had just implied.

"I only ask because you said you felt you were set up to fail. Well so was Ophelia, and mostly by her father. He had all the control over her and she had to obey his rules as long as she was unmarried." He said slowly, clearly a little alarmed by the sudden change in my mood.

_Why do you have to be so God damn clever,_ was the only thought that ran through my mind at that moment. I just had to get the one fucking doctor who actually read the fucking play didn't I?

"Raven, why don't you want to talk about your parents? Just tell me that and I won't ask again," he continued, trying to reason with me as I was now clearly irritated. "I just need to understand that so I can respect your boundaries, which I clearly just crossed."

"Because I'm afraid I'm more like them then I want to be," I responded, taking a deep breath and pulling my knees to my chest, " and I'm also afraid that because of that, I'm incapable of making my own decisions."

"I get that. You're afraid of what they _are_ and what parts of them _are you_ , and because of that you think you're predisposition to be the _way you are_."

I remained silent to his statement, even though he was right, down to the last word. However I wasn't going to speak until he asked me a question that had nothing to do with my parents. And if that meant spending the rest of the session giving him the silent treatment, then so be it. As I've learned these days, I'm not above acting like a _child,_ if need be.

"Okay, moving on. Um, you never really told me if you thought you had depression." He said realizing I wasn't going to be that easily manipulated into saying anything more about my parents.

"Yes, I think I have depression. Why does it matter if I think I do or not, why is that so important?" I said in frustration.

"Because I need to see if you can accept your condition."

"Do you think I have depression doctor?" I asked almost patronizingly, "you're the one with a _doctoral level degree_ in psychology after all." My tone was very catty, which I now realize was extremely rude of me. (Note to self: apologize to Dr. Graves for being a bitch.)

"Yes, but I'm not really sure which type you have." He said leaning back in his chair.

"Wait, there is more than one kind of depression?"

"Yes, there are many different kinds, but I'm trying to determining whether you have major or chronic depression."

He went on to describe the differences between the two and why he was having trouble determining which one I had. For example he said that chronic depression is characterized by long term states of depressed mood, whereas major depression is a constant sense of hopelessness and despair. And thought the two share some similarities, they are supposed to be two different conditions. However what apparently makes this difficult is that someone with chronic depression can have one or more episodes of major depression in their life. And where I have been depressed for a long period of time and show symptoms of both chronic and major depression, puts me right on spectrum. Making it hard to decipher which one I actually suffer from. However, Dr. Graves suspects that I most likely have chronic depression and am now going through a major episode as we speak, but he needs more time to solidify his theory.

I tried to ask him what all that meant, but he only said that I shouldn't be concerned with it until he'd come to a conclusion. I know he obviously doesn't want me to over think anything, especially without a defendant answer, but how can I not. Either way, I'm still broken; it's just a matter of which way. To be honest, I'm not really sure if which way really makes much of a difference.

Shortly after this Dr. Graves walked me back up the medium unit. I didn't really say much to him, I was too busy thinking of everything we spoke of. I was trying to make sense of things that had no simple answers and didn't have solid lines to keep them clear or simplified. That's the thing about mental illness; you can have two different people with the same diagnosis and two completely different sets of symptoms. How does that even make sense?

As we were stepping out of the elevator, I saw a familiar figure standing in the lobby waiting as some of his more questionable belongings were confiscated. His back was turned to me, but I could tell by the muscular, yet slim build that it was Richard. I paused for a moment slightly shocked to see him. Not that I didn't want to see him, I just wasn't expecting it.

Dr. Graves, being as observant as he is, noticed my sudden change in demeanor and looked back at me as though he were trying to piece together a one thousand piece jigsaw puzzle. I however was too busy trying to pull myself out of the slight shock I was overcome with to deal with filling him in.

"Raven what's wrong?" He asked, giving away my presents as the dark haired young man turned to find me standing only about ten feet away. It was amazing how normal he looked without his mask and how inconspicuous he was without it.

"Raven, I didn't see you there." Richard said with a smile and began to walk toward me. Dr. Graves remained silent while Richard walked passed him and came to face to face with me.

"Richard what are you doing here, I didn't think you were going to visit today?" I said with a surprised expression, causing a look of realization to take over my doctor's features.

"Well I wanted to see you and make sure you were okay." He replied with a coy shrug, then noticed the thirty something year old man, who stood to the left of him. "Who's this?" He questioned, a bit confused.

"Dr. Adam Graves," He smirked and shook Richard's hand; "I'm Raven's psychologist."

"Oh, I'm Richard Grayson, Raven's friend," he said introducing himself to my doctor, "It's good to know Raven finally, saw a doctor."

"Yes and Dr. Graves was just leaving." I added knowing my doctor was smart enough to put the puzzle together and mostly likely already had.

"Well I still have to check you in and I don't think Richard is done at the security desk." Dr. Graves said in an oddly pleasant voice. You know the kind (when someone finds out one of your most well kept secrets and they are clearly doing all they can to hold back from announcing it to the world.)

Richard turned back the security desk to finish up with all the formalities that hadn't been taken care of.

Once he was out of earshot Dr. Graves smiled and said in a low whisper, "So I take it that's the same Richard who found out about your little secret?" I only responded by nodding my head with my arms crossed. "You really like him don't you?" He asked a little amused.

"He is my friend, that's all," I instead in a horrified whisper, "and why do you care anyway?"

"Well, because it's nice to see you act like a teenage girl." He answered with smirk. I however remained silent; I honestly think I could've killed my doctor if given the opportunity. "Oh and by the way, he really likes you too." Dr. Graves added then turned and walked away, silently laughing to himself. (Note to self: Don't apologize for being a bitch.)

I just shook my head at him as he seemed to be enjoying my discomfort more then I think was appropriate. After he checked me back into my ward, I was allowed to rejoin the rest of my fellow patients with Richard gallantly at my side.

When we entered the room he looked around at some of the other patients. Today was bit quieter than it had been in the previous days. I wasn't sure if it was because I was more settled in now or if it was because the moon was no longer full. But it seemed like everyone was on their best behavior. Except for Jack of course.

Now Jack is in all respects, _colorful_ and that is being polite. To describe him in a nutshell, I would say that Jack's an alcoholic, chain smoking, drug using, womanizing, foul mouthed piece of work, imported to us straight from Australia. Now I must say that for the most part, I actually find his antics entertaining about ninety percent of the time. He's constantly going off about something, using choice words that he insists aren't as popular in this country as they should be. And crossing my line of decency to the point, I'm surprised I still have one. I mean God, there are things that come out of that man's mouth that could make Roy Harper blush, and that is saying a lot.

Anyways Richard and I sat down by my window and before we could even really began our conversation, who do you think plops himself down right next to Richard; Fucking Jack.

"Hello mates, I couldn't help but notice Violet here's got a visitor. I thought I'd come over and introduce myself." He said holding his hand out for Richard to shake.

Richard look confused for obviously for more reasons than one. First of all, I don't think he was expecting some random stranger to just walk right into our conversation, and second, he had no idea that Jack's choice nickname for me is Violet. (This is because he does not call anyone by their real name.) I'm actually lucky because most of the women around here he refuses to as; the Hot Girl, the Other Hot Girl, the Hot Nurse, and my personal favorite the Fucking Ugly One. So yes I will take Violet with no complaints.

"Who's Violet?" Richard asked looking at me with more confusion then one could imagine and I'm not going to lie, I was kind of enjoying it.

"So you don't actually know her?" Jack asked, pointing me.

"That's Raven." Richard said still not catching on.

"No that's Violet mate."

"What hell are you talking about?"

Now at this point, I thought I should probably intervene. I know how much Richard hates to be screwed with, but the look on his face was pretty priceless. "Richard this is Jack, he is a patient here and he likes to call me _Violet_." I said, pointing to Jack.

"Nice to me you mate, so what did Violet say your name was again?" He asked with a sly wit, making it quite obvious where this conversation was headed.

"Richard."

"Awa so you're a bit of Dick now aren't ya?" Jack said pointing out Richard slightly unfortunate nickname.

"Was the supposed to be clever?" Richard replied with a furrowed brow.

"I don't know, are you fucking Dick or not?" Jack asked again, playing dumb. "It's a simple fucking question mate."

Poor Richard just looked at me, in hopes that maybe I would spare him from the wrath of Jack, but no such luck. He eventually came to the realization that he was just going to have to play along if there was any chance of survival.

"Yes I'm a Dick." Richard said patronizingly, causing Jack to display a toothy grin.

"Well good, I'm glad you've come to terms with who you are, I was happy to help." Jack said rising from his chair, and said before leaving, "Oh and Violet, your boyfriend's a Dick."

I shook my head gave Richard a patronizing smile, "Thank you Captain Obvious." I replied dryly.

"That is fucking Captain _Jack_ fucking Obvious, to you love." He shot back with his witty grin. I only responded with a, thumbs up, knowing that he could play this game all day, especially with me.

I then turned my attention to Richard who was still clearly trying to make sense of what had just taken place in front of him. "What the hell was that?" He asked in a confused voice.

"You're initiation." I said dryly, trying to play it off as nothing. "I think he liked you."

"Who was that guy?"

"Jack, he is well interesting, to say the least."

"You think? Richard said with his feathers still a bit ruffled. "He doesn't do anything to make you feel uncomfortable does he?" Richard asked in protective voice.

I shot him a sarcastic look and rolled my eyes, "No dad, he's quite harmless, the only dangerous thing about him is his mouth."

"Yeah you're not joking."

"Nope, so what brings you all the way to the local psychiatric hospital today Bird Boy?"

Richard placed I finger to his lips in a secretive motion and said, "Like I said earlier I wanted to see you. You sound like you're doing better, how are you?"

"Um, I'm not really sure if I'm doing better, but I think I'm headed in that direction." I said tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "What about you, how are you doing?" I asked knowing this whole situation mustn't have been easy on him. In fact I could see it in his eyes, his emotions clawing and digging as they fell in a tangled mess around me.

"I've been alright, just trying to make sense of everything, but I'm mostly just worried about you." He responded in a softer voice.

I looked at him and smiled, I couldn't get passed the thought I was taking away his piece of mind and I felt guilty his thoughts were plagued with my wellbeing. Especially because I didn't even really care about it myself. It's actually quiet an odd feeling to know that someone cares so much for you and they so desperately don't want to lose you, but you just don't have the will to fight anymore. Yet because they care for you, they're naturally angry with the decision you made. Still as much as they want to let it be known, they keep it locked up for your sake. I only know this because I could feel it in Richards presence, that he just wanted to scream and cry all at the same time. Tell me how much he hated what I did and how much it scared him that he almost lost me, and how scarred he was that he could still loose me.

"I'm sorry," was all I could say. I felt such guilt building in my chest and my eyes began to burn with the sadness he felt. "I'm so sorry that my actions are hurting you." I continued with a whisper of shame.

He couldn't really say anything, he was to overcome with what little I said, yet he knew I meant so much more. "Raven I know you never intended to hurt anyone," he said finally, picking up his hand and slowly moving it in my direction.

" _Don't_ ," I said closing my eyes, "it would hurt too much." I know my words where sharp, but I just knew his touch would only amplify the rush of emotions I already felt, like the sharp twist of a knife to my empathy.

Richard looked a little hurt, but I think he could see why I was so resistant. It wasn't him; it was what I am, an empath, an emotionally unstable empath at that. "I'm sorry too Raven."

"Why?" I asked, slightly puzzled as to what he meant.

"For not being the friend you needed and for telling the team about your business. It wasn't my place to tell them."

I looked down at my lap, as I felt my tears starting to rush down my face, unable to hold them back. I wasn't even sure why I was crying, whether it was because I was over taken by Richard's emotions. Or whether it was because I'd been holding those tears back for so long they'd finally found the right reason to fall, I couldn't be certain. I just knew they were and it actually felt _good_.

"Raven, are you all right?" Richard asked in concern.

I was unable to speak for moment, mostly because I wasn't sure of the answer. I was caught somewhere between pain and relief, and there was something about it that felt familiar, yet it was still very much untouched. I don't know if I dare say this, but I think I felt _alive?_

"I'm fine; I'm just not use to being this venerable." I said wiping away my tears.

I know I've cried in the last few years more times than I would like to admit, but those moments were blank and empty, as though they didn't possess the necessary heart to be real. I don't know why, but it was as though I had the emotional venom to make its bit infectious, so I could actually feel what it meant to cry. "I'm sorry I don't know what's come over me; I just don't know what I feel right now."

"It's alright Raven, I understand and if you want to tell me how you feel I'm here to listen." He said in a comforting voice.

"I don't know if I'm quite ready to tell you, but when I am, will you still be willing to listen?" I asked now getting a hold of myself.

"Of course, I'll wait as long as it takes." He responded, causing me to smile at him lightly.

"Thanks." I muttered through of my hands, trying to wipe away the remaining tears from my face. Their salty taste still present upon my lips, as if nothing more than a lingering memory of what it meant to feel.

"The team really misses you Rae," he added dull, yet hopeful, "they really want to see you."

"I don't know if I'm ready to face them yet." I sighed.

Now it's not that I don't miss them, I do, I just know I'm not ready to face them. I couldn't help but flash back to the incident in the hospital. I was sitting in my hospital bed, and it had been the first day I was coherent enough to make any sense out of my surroundings. Kory was sitting at my bed side, doing her best to make the best out of a bad situation. Victor was outside talking with my doctor and a man who I didn't recognize. All the while Gar sat in the corner like a small child who everyone lied to because they felt he was too naive to understand. Richard of course was nowhere to be found, he was understandably too confused to see me or even be around me, which was for the best. I know if I'd seen him in the very fragile state I was in, I would've shattered even more then I already had and I think he knew that. To be honest, it would've been no different for him. To see me in that hospital bed would have made him even more upset with me then he already was and we both needed space to pick up the pieces or at least began to.

Still I sat there, surrounded by three of the people who loved me the most, yet I still felt alone and so did they. The room was occupied, yet still empty, as though I wasn't the only person who'd lost more than they'd bargained for. I watched Gar fidgeting with his hands, which was something he did when he was nervous or frightened. He looked up at me and I could see that he had no idea what to say, what to do, or what to think.

Kory on the other hand, was trying to console me with her overly helpful trendies and frantic words that never came together right. I don't think she really understood what was wrong with me and I don't think she ever really did. Looking at her, I thought back to a previous conversation we'd a few months ago. She was trying to understand me better and wanted to know how I felt. Finally after about a week of her asking, I broke down and told her.

_"So you really want to know what being depressed is like?" I said in a flat dry voice at the wide eyed beauty that stood before me._

_"Why yes Raven, I wish to know what your depression is like." She responded, clearly having no idea what it meant to be depressed and why would she? Kory was in all respects my complete polar opposite and I didn't want to diminish her overly joyful demeanor, with my melancholy._

_"Ok, just think of the saddest thing that ever happened to you and how sad and heartbroken it made you feel. Then imagine that you had to relive that same heartbreak every single day, the same heart wrenching feeling for months at a time. That is what it feels like to be depressed."_

_I could see that this saddened Kory as her eyes sort of lost their starriness and dulled. "Friend Raven, that is most awful, who is it that causes you the heartbreak?" She asked in her naïve nature._

_"Life Star, life breaks my heart." I said in a sad tone, realizing how fucking sad that sounded, but it was true._

_Kory looked a bit bewildered by the thought and though she still didn't quite understand, I could see it bothered her to hear such a statement as she asked, "Why does life do such a thing? Life should be glorious and full of good sprites."_

_"Your right, life should be something that one does not take for granted and lives to the fullest until their last breath, but I don't I have the necessary breath to live."_

That was probably the saddest conversation I'd ever had, only because I was trying to convey my tragic mind to someone who clearly didn't live in the darkness, nor did they travel there, but for that I am grateful. I may resent Kory a little for her beauty and the positive light she represents, but I'd never wish this feeling upon her or any of my friends. Which is why I have a hard time trying to stomach my behavior in the hospital.

I remember Victor walking back into the room with my doctor, a grim look on his face. I could tell by the look in his eyes that I wouldn't like what he was about to be say. "Hey Rae, your doctor has something he'd like to tell you."

I didn't answer I just looked at the wall hoping that with any luck I'd find a way out.

"Ms. Roth I'm sorry to inform you, but due to the circumstances of your admission, we feel that it's best you be committed to the local psychiatric hospital for observation." The doctor said in a sterile voice.

I didn't bother to look back at them; I only caught a glimpse of Gar as he looked back at me, fearful of my reaction.

"For how long?" I asked with little emotion in my voice.

"For as long as it takes…"

"As long as it takes for what, to morally reprogram me?" I said cutting the doctor off with venom in my words. "It doesn't matter I'm not going." I spat.

"No Ms. Roth, you have been remanded by the state to go." The doctor said as though he were talking to a child.

"What?" I questioned with a furry burning in my eyes looking back at Victor who was trying to keep the stoic big bother look on his face.

"You have no choice Rae, you have to go." He said in a regretful voice.

I could see those words were hard for him to say, and that he knew how much I didn't want to hear them. He also knew how betrayed I felt, but he agreed that I needed to go.

"So I have absolutely no rights over my own body do I?" I said bitterly, "So this is my punishment?"

"Rae it's not a punishment, you're sick and you need help from people who will know how to help you." Victor pleaded.

"Friend Raven, they can help fix the breaking of your heart." Kory added trying to sooth me.

"Kory don't you understand you can't always fix what's broken!" I lashed out at her in anger.

She looked frighten and hurt by my tone as tears began to fill her eyes. It was quite obvious she'd been holding them back for my sake, but now seeing my emptiness for what it actually was, and the proof that not everything is as alive and romantic as she believed, only hurt her more. _I hurt her more_. By taking away that safe hold and smashing her beliefs, by proving that life isn't as painless as she thought. It was then after her tears began to fall she left the room, unable to even look at me. Normally I would feel guilty, but I was too caught up in fact I was about to be carted off to a psychiatric hospital against my will.

Gar looked up at me, then to Kory who'd just walked out the door. He didn't say anything, and I think he knew there was no point, he knew full well that I'd go _willingly_. More importantly, he knew I wouldn't go without a fight, and I'm sure he knew there was about to be one, as he gave me one last look and head out after Kory.

"Rae you're not being rational, this is what has to happen, you need help." Victor said in a grave voice.

Now for me this was quite an ironic statement, because on one hand, you have some like me who everyone looks at and says, _"you are not being rational,"_ well guess what, I think I'm being pretty _damn rational_. Then on the other hand you're saying I need to be rational when the whole point of sending me to a psychiatric hospital is because everyone thinks I've made an _irrational_ decision. Well again this might be difficult to understand, but I thought I was making a _rational_ decision. Which is why I was sent here, because my rationality is flowed, so why would it make any sense to tell a morally _irrational_ person to be _rational?_

"I am being _perfectly,_ _fucking rational_ and I'm not going." I said and turned to remove my IV. Now I have no idea where I thought I was going, or why I thought I could just get up and leave, (but hey, I thought I was being rational).

It was then the doctor called in a male nurse to assist in restraining me. I'd now made it to my feet and needed to lean on the IV stand for support. I just remember looking over and seeing them moving toward me, while the doctor told me I was not allow me to leave the premise and that if I continue to be difficult, I'd have to be sedated and restrained. I felt like a frightened animal being pushed into a corner with no escape and no way out. I could hear Victor's voice doing his best to talk me down, to go willingly, but it just wasn't that easy, because I never thought about what would happen if I failed. I didn't think that part through, I didn't think there'd be an after or a consequence to my decision. I just wanted to go to sleep.

I became quite panicked and frantic, looking at the three much larger men as they all approached me. The male nurse reached out and placed a hand around my wrist. I remember becoming irate by his touch and swung my arm back out of his grip and demanded that he not touch me. The doctor said something to the effect of, I needed to be restrained, because he thought was appropriate. It was then Victor shook his head and I could feel the even greater disappointment he had for me as it surge through my veins.

I recall feeling their anticipation as they glanced at each other questioning who'd make the first move. The doctor made the order to restrained me while he administered a sedative. I don't really know what happened next or how it escalated, I just remember struggling and trying to fight with what little strength I had. While their gripping hands tried to pull me down, and keep me still and compliant. I remember Victor's face and how torn it was. He clearly wasn't comfortable with having to help wrestle me down, but he wanted to make sure that I didn't get hurt and I think he thought in a strange way that maybe I wouldn't feel so alone.

As hard as they tried to keep me still, I found enough strength to thrash and claw out at them, much like a cat trying to escape the unwanted grip of a rough child. At one point when they were trying to direct me to my hospital bed. Victor, who was trying his best not to hurt me, lost his grip over me and my right arm fell free. It was then I took my free hand and attempted to swat the doctor away from me, but missed and hit the male nurse right it the face by mistake. It was during this commotion that I felt a pulling and a tearing in my flesh. Once I felt the warm wet fluid run down my arm, I realized I'd ripped out my IV. I don't know what I was about to do, I just remember noticing Gar, who was staring at me in horror as I stood there, covered in my own blood, with pure insanity in my eyes. It was that moment I realized how out of control I was and how far I'd truly fallen. I knew he'd never look at me the same way ever again, and the image before him would linger in his mind. The image of my " _mad scene."_

The last thing I remember was someone wrapping their arms around me with more force than I thought possible, and a the sharp jab of a needle begin thrust into my shoulder muscle. Now I know in the movies they make it seem like a person is subdued almost instantly, but well just like suicide being pretty and glamorous, that is also bullshit. Now granted I could defiantly feel the drugs starting to kick in pretty quickly, but in total it took about ten long minutes or so. At first I felt weak and things became dazed. I remember looking around and seeing my blood on the tile while another nurse came in and began to warp my arm in dressings, trying to slow the bleeding. At this point I had no need to fight; it was clear now that I lost in so many ways. I lost my dignity, I lost my sanity, I lost my credibility and I lost it all to my dark side, because I really don't have control over myself and that's what breaks my heart the most. Because as hard as I try not to, I live by my father's rules.


	11. April is the cruelest month

**Part 2 of Journal Entry #5: April is the Cruelest Month**

"Raven is it because of what happened in the hospital?" Richard questioned, snapping me out of my dark thoughts and into reality.

I looked back to him, unsure of how long I was lost in my thoughts, by the look on his face it must have been longer than I thought. "What did you say again, I didn't quite catch that?"

"I asked, if part of the reason you didn't want to see the team was because of what happened in the hospital?" He said unsure of how I would react.

I took a deep breath and thought of whether I should just be honest or try to protect him like I'd normally do. However, I didn't feel like trying to fabricate a reason to conceal much of the truth. (And to be honest, I don't think my past attempts to protect him or any of the others ever really worked.) So I decided to try something new.

"Yes, mostly," I replied watching for his reaction. His face hardened slightly, but not out of disapproval, more out of concern for my feelings. "I just don't know if I can look them in the eye after they had to see that side of me."

"Rae, I know that was probably not your proudest moment to look back on, but your also not in the most ideal situation right now and you haven't been for a long time. I know this has not been easy on you in any way and we're all beginning to see that now."

He tried to give me a reassuring smile, but it didn't quite take form on his features. I think he sort of realized the reality of the situation and the thought sank in that things would never be the same. They would always be slightly altered and offset, just a day short of normal and I know that frightens him. What stung the most however was that I was the cause; the antagonist who pushed us over the edge. Driven by a catalyst who disguised itself in the shapes of false hopes and cruel hands, pretending to offer salvation, but they only led me right the end of the willow branch. I may not value my own life, but I do value my friend's lives and the good they have to offer. It's here I realized that my actions were not as rational as I'd thought.

"Richard I'm sorry." I said once again (though it doesn't matter how many times I say it, what I did can never be undone).

A confused look took over his features as he responded, "What are you sorry about?"

"This, you constantly worrying about me, the team having to stand by and watch this insanity, and for me." I paused and took a deep breath, "I never intended to drag the rest of you down here with me."

"Raven," was all Richard could say as I felt another wave of regret wash over not only me, but the both of us.

It was then Richard rose from his chair and began to move toward me. I wasn't sure what he was doing until he knelt down and wrapped his arms around me. Incasing me with his emotions, which were both comforting and frightening, but real and sustaining.

"Raven, I know you are probably hating this right now, but I don't care. I don't want you to feel alone anymore." He said burying his face into my hair.

I couldn't help but smile, and placed my hands on his forearms in my best attempt to reciprocate the hug. "I don't hate it, I'm just tolerating it." I smile, tears beginning to stream down my face.

"Promise me you'll get better." He whispered in a hesitation.

I looked back at him, knowing how much it hurt him to say those words. They clung tight to fear, and read heavily of uncertainty. "I can only promise that I'll try." I said knowing I couldn't make that promise just now. I have a long way to go and even though it's possible I'm moving in the right direction, I haven't traveled far enough to see where this road is taking me. "I hope that's good enough for now?"

"It's the truth, that's all that matters," he replied with a smile and pulled away from me, taking the heavy weight of his emotions with him.

We continued to talk for a while, covering subject such as, how I acquired the pet name _"Violet"_ and what I thought about Dr. Graves. I told him I'd only met with twice, but I thought he was capable of possibly helping me and that he seemed to understand me better than I thought possible. I remember Richard being pretty happy to hear this, only because he thought I'd hate anyone they gave me, but he was happy the doctor seemed to be in my good graces. I however, left out the more delicate details, such as Dr. Graves's quest to unearth my, "daddy issues," among other things.

Before he left he pulled out a new book for me and asked if I was ready to trade in one of my old ones. I picked up the book and immediately recognized it. The old hard cover volume had belonged to my mother and was quite worn from all the time she spent reading it. My mother had a love for the Progressive Era of American history, making T.S. Eliot, her favorite poet. His work was mostly published throughout the early nineteen hundreds and even into the sixties. I think what my mother loved about his work was that she felt it was unique and compelling for its time. I remember her constantly quoting him and clinging to the words that lay within the pages before me. I can understand this because I do the same with my literature, looking to it for comfort and identity.

"I picked it because it looked like you read it a lot." Richard said.

"I didn't, my mother did." I said softly.

"Oh, I can bring you a new one tomorrow if you want?" Richards replied in an apologetic tone and reach for the book.

"No, I'll keep this one." I said giving him a light nostalgic smile.

We then came to an agreement that we'd wait until I was transferred to the open unit for the rest of the team to visit me. I told Richard to let them know it wasn't personal, that I just wasn't ready, but I did miss them. He nodded and said that he understood my reasoning and would explain that I was still adjusting. Before leaving, he asked if it were alright if he gave me a hug good bye, which I thought was a bit awkward of him to do. It wasn't that we never _hugged_ , we did, but it wasn't something we didn't do often, and was reserved for more memorable moments. However, I could see that he needed it more than I did, so as a gesture of good faith I wrapped my arms around him and rested my chin on his shoulder.

"I'm only doing this so that you don't feel alone anymore." I whispered, patronizingly.

He folded his arms around me and held me close for a minute, his warmth had always been welcoming and I'd always found safety in his arms. "I could never feel alone with you," he replied as he held me a bit longer than necessary, "Well Rae, I should be going now, I'll try to come back tomorrow, if I can," he said releasing me from his grip.

I nodded and bid him goodbye. He turn away and walk to the door. Before exiting he turned and gave me one last smile to which I put on a brave one for his sake. I watched as he opened the door and crossed the threshold, closing the door behind him. My smile faded as I once again found myself alone in a mildly crowed room, nothing more than another shadow, among many. I sat down and watched those around me going about their daily business. It's funny how even in a place like this people still seem to create a certain level of normalcy. By giving themselves certain tasks or activities in order to keep their lives going, to give them some sense of purpose. I think that's the reason I cling to my journal so much, because I want to feel as though maybe what I have to say _matters_ , that all this was _not_ a waste of time.

I looked down at the book Richard had brought me; it brought back some bitter memories as well as a few good ones. Placing my hands on the old warn cover, I remembered my mother was a woman defined by her eras. She knew them all from almost every culture and I think in a way each one represented a different part of her, giving her something of reason. For example my mother looked at the Elizabethan Era as a time of romance and tragedy, which she felt were one in the same. And I can't say I blame her for seeing it that way. Whereas the Progressive Era represented something of hope, that maybe some of the old social norms could possibly be broken one day.

I think the reason she was so interested in her eras was because they each told a story as to how mankind has socially evolved over the centuries. It was her way of seeing the world and understanding it for what it was. However, there was something else about my mother I noticed, she lived in the past. This was because she had no hope for the future and she hated the present, but with history it was all said and done, it had all the answers. I myself am walking proof that history repeats itself, I'm not proud of that, but it's the truth.

So in honor of history, I opened the old tome, which reminded me of an old friend one may have for many years. Its pages worn from years of reliving the same stories and its words faded, no longer vibrant against the yellowing pages. The chapters were torn from many turns and its spine weak, after committing the same action over the course of many years. _It really was my mother's best friend,_ I thought peering at the haggard creases and tears that scared the old book. They showed how much she loved to spend her days reading it for hundredth time. I feel as though I'm the only person who understands this because I know how it feels to love something as simple as a book or a poem. They give you explanations, lessons, and morals, but most importantly, they tell you what you need to know, they are confessions.

I began to flip through the old pages, being very careful not to accident tear out some of the ones that were barley being held to together by the weakened bind. I turned a page to find something wedged in between the next two pages. I thought it strange that something would be caught there, but I tuned it to find an old tarot card lying face down. The card itself showed age and had told many of their future a time or two hundred too many. I picked up the card up and recalled that I'd been missing one for quite some time and had no idea of where it had gone. (And this is again one of those things that no one will understand but me, but I knew it was mine.) Things like tarot cards are _personal_ , meaning they belong to you and only you.

With my card in hand, I could feel my bond with it, but I wondered how it had gotten in my mother's book. I'd never actually read it before, it felt to personal, but then again after Trazodone and Elavil, there are a lot of things I can't recall and I think this is one of them. (Now for the creepy part.) I finally turned the card over so that it rested in my palm facing up at me. My eyes widened at the letters written in black across the face of the tarot card that read, _the hang man is a fool_. I immediately dropped the it and placed my hands on the table.

"What the hell." I whispered under my breath.

Now it's moments like these when I realize I can't be mad at Gar for thinking I'm creepy, because I somehow manage to creep myself out (and it gets creepier).

I looked down at the image in my hand, a man inverted, hanging by one foot, from a tau cross. His head surrounded by the light of an nimbus while his life hangs in suspense. Now most people conceive the thought that this particular card is a representation of martyrdom, but if you look at the card closely you will see the tau cross is made of a living wood as it is shown to still possess leaves. Also the man's face does not display suffering, but a look of deep thought. These images suggest, that the card symbolizes life in suppression, but not death.

I looked at the words written across it in black ink. It was clear by the curves and sharp lines of the cursive, that the hand writing belonged to me. However, I had no memory of writing it, but like I'd previously written, there are a lot of things I can't remember (but that's another matter for another time). The words I recognized from years before _"the hang man is a fool"_ is something my mother use to say. She had a lot of interesting quotes, however most of them came from philosophers and poets, and I have no idea where she came up with this one. But then again, she said a lot of interesting things, most of which I'm only now beginning to understand.

I looked down to see the card had been used as an unorthodox book mark for my mother's favorite poem, _The Wasteland,_ which had been written around 1922. It was a dark mysterious piece, broken down into five parts, each one representing a different phase of life. I turned the page and began to skim through the words. I'd read the poem before, though it had been years since I'd done so. I soon noticed that the title of the fourth part was circled in the same black ink. _What the hell are you trying to tell yourself Raven?_ Was the only thought that ran through my mind, because the fourth part of the poem is appropriately called, _Death by Water._ (I told you it gets creepier, why wouldn't it? I'm like a beacon for the creepy.) It was then I recalled a line in one of the stanzas from the first part of the poem none as, _The Burial of the Dead._ I turned back to beginning and read through the rhythmic words. Once I turned to the second page of the poem, I knew I'd found what I was looking for, not because I'd found the line itself, but I also found this in my hand writing instead, _The Art of Drowning, a tragic end to a tragic mind,_ right next to, _"The hanged man. Fear death by water."_ (Which was underlined.) (Well now doesn't that sound familiar, yeah it fucking does.)

I felt a mixture of horror, confusion and curiosity all screaming in my head, each voice sounding off about the message I apparently tried to leave myself. All of which seemed to lead back to my mother who I may say did turn downing into an art. She'd led quite a tragic life and through it all she dealt with it by making some very poor decisions, which she referred to as, _"the art of drowning."_ It was her way of describing her self-destruction because she knew what she was doing, or running after would only hurt her in the end, but she didn't ran for it anyway. She just knew she wanted it, and she only wanted it because she could not have it. She also referred to herself as a, _"matchstick girl,"_ which means exactly what it sounds like, she played with matches, (metaphorically speaking). She was like a moth to a flame; she knew she would only get burned, but that didn't matter until it was too late. The only thing she was ever any good at, was flying herself right into the flame. It was all she knew, it was all she was taught by her mother who drank herself to death to escape her tyrant of a husband. Leaving her only daughter to face the brunt of his furry alone; just like I'm left to face the wrath of mine.

My mother's only escape was her journal, which she kept to document her tragedy, so that if she were unable to tell her story, then hopefully it could do it for her. A tear stained, heartbreaking, sentiment, to show that she was here and that she mattered. That she was more than just somebody's punching bag, or some hopeless little goth girl with no future and not place to go. Each entry showing proof of her humanity after receiving her daily wounds, both physical and emotional. All in the hope that maybe someone would listen and refuse to turn a blind eye. I often think that maybe if someone had listened to her and didn't just throw her aside, if I would be sitting her writing about how tragic my life is.

So now for the better question, why is the hang man a fool? Is it because he has a choice to make or is it because he lets others make his choices for him? Why? Why would I fucking write that? I must've had a good reason to write it on that card in the first place, right? Was I trying to warn myself about _my_ self-destructive behavior? Because if I was, its a little too late for that, not to mention I can't remember writing it! (Thank you so very fucking much, Elavil and Trazodone, for stealing my memory!) The sad thing is I'm not even joking; those fucking drugs ruined my memory. Not only are they both known for causing memory loss as a side effect, but when taken together, they are even more likely to cause cognitive damage. Just another fucking gift from Dr. fucking Quinzel! I bet that incompetent quack thinks _manic depression_ is a fucking rock band!

"I'm only trying to help you," she'd say patronizingly. That's fucking rich, all she ever did was sit there and tell me how I was too over protective of myself or go on about how I didn't know what was best for me, but she did. And God forbid I ever suggested that my medication wasn't working, because in that case it mustn't have been high enough and she would have to increase my dosage. Or even better, add another fucking pill to my nightly pharmaceutical ritual because the two just weren't enough!

Dear god it's as if my entire life is a sick joke? Did I miss something because every single aspect of my life is not only littered with fucking irony, but it's like a really bad fucking joke? For example; I am an empath, we thrive on emotion, it should be a life line for me, but _no_ I can't feel, I can't thrive, I can't even indulge in happiness. Because if I do, the whole entire fucking world goes to hell in a hand basket, complete with matching fucking bows and ribbon! Not only that, but my body was never meant to sustain or maintain life beyond the point of my twisted destiny because my sole purpose in life was to die. How ironic, right? To be told when you're just a child, that you were born to die. See, my life is a complete joke. How can I value it when I feel like nobody else does? Even as child I remember being told that I wouldn't reach adulthood, never mind a full life span.

I often wondered whether that meant what was thought to be my destiny or if it meant what I have feared about myself for years. That the demon in me is actually killing off my humanity. I mean what if that is actually what is wrong with me, they don't make a pill for that! I feel the demonic part of me is nothing more than the plague that I've been carrying around in my veins, slowly infecting my humanity and slowly killing me piece by piece. Each day another fragment of me falls victim to my darkness and ends up buried deep within my memory, hoping to be forgotten. Yet they can't be as they spread the infection in the same vicious cycle that subdued them in the first place. How long can one person endure that sort of self-mutilation for until one dies all together? What if that is all suicide actually is, just one very long, drawn out death? Nothing more than the final nail in the coffin with no hope for the dying?

Then how am I still alive? Am I even alive? Am I that empty? What if I actually did die and this is the hell they sent me too? An eternity of torture where I have to face my sinful decision, and also every other sinful, yet painful decision that led me here? Oh my God, that would the most ironic fucking ending to the most ironic fucking story, it's too fitting.

And now I don't even know what I feel right now, part of me wants to laugh as I write these insane theories down because they're so fucking ridiculous, and the other part of me wants to cry because of how true they are. I feel so at odds with myself right now and I don't know how to handle it, I'm writing at a rapid speed and I need to slow down , because I can hardly read what I'm writing. I can feel myself on the verge of hyperventilation, and I think I'm actually having an anxiety attack. I don't know what to do, who to talk to, or what the fuck to feel. I've once again found myself beginning to cry uncontrollably, with a rush of misguiding emotions running through me to the point where I feel as though I'm suffocating, but I'm choking on my own breath, on my very life. And I have no idea why the fuck am I still writing this?

I think I need to go find a nurse and ask for help, because I can't keep doing this. I can't keep letting myself spiral out of control; I'm obviously not very good at navigating myself through waters like these. I can't keep sitting here waiting for this storm to pass, hoping that it will only leave minor damage. It never worked before so why would it work now? Everyone seems to think that I don't ask because I don't want help, that I'd rather face every monster alone, but that's not true that at all, I'm just afraid that no one can help me and sometimes I'd rather pretend that maybe they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ok my darlings, I know the end is a little frantic, but she is having anxiety attack, so I hope it wasn't written to sloppy, but let me know what you think. Please leave a review, I do very much value your opinions, and feedback, hope you enjoyed it.


	12. Forget me not, for I may forget myself

He went for a long walk after leaving the hospital; he didn't want to go back to the tower so soon. He just wanted to think and sort through the pieces of debris, that had scattered themselves around him. The surrounding world was far from quiet, as it refused to stop in the wake of this tragedy, not unlike any other. The laugher of children could be heard as they ran passed him, followed by parents that could hardly keep up. He could recall a time like that once, but it was a far away place he hadn't been for a long time. Not only was he hardly a child anymore, but he was a different person with a different life and a different outlook. He now knew the world was a darker place then he once thought, and that endings were not always happy ones, but that was what kept him fighting. If his contribution could help rewrite at least one sad ending, then he knew this was who he meant to be.

He now stood at the railing of a bridge that stood over the pond in the local park and looked over at his reflection. It wasn't often that he found himself outside the tower without his mask, but when he did, he remembered what it was like to be someone else, to just be another. To not be stared at or having to be held to a higher standard, to just blend in felt easy, there was no expectations.

The water in the pound was clear and calm, yet he could not quite see the bottom. It reminded him of his mask, keeping the truth that lay beneath it a well-kept secret from the world that was not permitted to see it. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to keep his face hidden from the world so much. He told himself it was for his safety, to preserve his privacy, but the truth was he just wanted to hind. He didn't want anyone to see his vulnerability, it was part of the reason he left Gotham in the first place. His mentor knew his weaknesses and saw right through any mask he wore. He always saw that scarred little boy who stood at the edge of that platform, lost among the panic of a frantic audience. And unfortunately for Robin, that was part of who he was.

 _Maybe that's why Raven understands me so well,_ he thought looking down at the image of the young man who peered back at him from the water's surface. She'd always been the one to see through his brave fronts and solid walls built to keep the rest of the team from seeing that little boy. Though she never judged him for it. Raven had been very accepting to other's weaknesses, mostly because she understood that without them there could be no strengths. But more importantly, she felt she was the last person to judge others based on their flaws.

It was still very odd for him to see her so fragile, though she was beginning to gain back some of her dark wit. She was still far from the same and he realized she probably never would be. A part of her life had ended, and now she found herself standing at a cross roads questioning which one to take. He may not have understood how it felt to have made that decision, or the demons that haunted her on a daily basis, but he did understand how it felt when the world ended. To have everything you know taken away from you and to be left among the ruins, with no strength to rebuild.

Robin knew that hopelessness too well, and he knew Raven's was far more bitter. She had gone through so much in the last few years. Everything from Slade chasing after her while her father pulled the strings like a sadistic mad man and even after all that she had to battle her almost crippling depression. An to top it all off have her heart broken by an awful young man who never even loved her. Just the thought of him filling her head with false hopes and intentional broken promises made Robin's blood boil. He asked himself what Raven ever saw in some like Eric Forrester, but he assumed it had more to do with what he wanted her to see.

At first he found himself a bit jealous of him, he had practically replaced Robin as the strong male figure in Raven's life. He was no longer the one who she turned to for advice or share the more intimate details of her life with. That alone tainted his feelings toward her relationship with Eric, but once he caught sight of the sadistic nature of it, he couldn't stand by and let her be blinded by the lies he was feeding her. However, that didn't go over well, he once again found himself losing his grip on her and all because he wanted to protect her, but it seemed that wasn't within his reach.

Once he was back at the tower, he found the main room was still occupied, just as it had been when he had left. It was very typical; Beast Boy and Cyborg were playing some obnoxiously named video game, with some equally obnoxious premise. While Starfire was hard at work cooking some concoction she called "Gwork Narg," which smelled a lot like spoiled milk and mustard.

"Hey Dick, you're back and just in time I'm kicking Chrome Dome's ass!" Yelled a certain green changeling in excitement.

"Don't listen to Grass Stain; I'm just having an off day." Cyborg called out in his defense.

Robin smiled at the crudeness the two displayed, finding some comfort in their humor, but didn't respond.

"Oh Dick your back, I have been most curious to hear of your time visiting friend Raven." Starfire called from the Kitchen.

Robin knew this question was coming, he'd even rehearsed what his response would be when asked, but he found himself freezing up the reality of it.

"It was, well… it was… I don't know." He said plopping himself down on the sofa right next to Cyborg with a huff. He just wasn't sure what to say or where to even start. He knew he couldn't give them the answers they were looking for. He couldn't even find the ones _he_ was looking for.

"Was it really that bad?" Cyborg said in a questioning tone.

"Yes and no." Robin responded in a tired voice, it was clear he'd been taking the matter quite hard, as they all were, but it was deeper for him and everyone knew it. "I mean, she seems a little better, but she still has a long way to go and I don't think she quite believes there's hope yet."

"Well things like that take time in this sort of situation. She needs to come to terms with a lot of things she may not be ready to accept." Cyborg said trying to make light of situation as he always did.

"Have you been watching Dr. Phil again Chip Head?" Beast Boy said with his poorly placed humor.

"And you wonder why no one takes you seriously." Cyborg responded then continued, "This all has to run its course, and sometimes things have to get worse before they can get better." He said taking a moment to let the profound thought settle in with his fellow teammates. "You say one thing Grass Stain and I will shove this controller down your throat," he warned, noticing Beast Boy began to open his mouth.

"Hey, I was just going to say I agree with you, that's all." Beast Boy said defending himself. "Especially after what happened in the hospital, cause if that was not the worst of it, then I don't wanna be around for what the _worst_ is."

The other Titans remained silent for a moment, it wasn't that they didn't agree with Beast Boy, they did, but none of them wanted to admit it. They wanted to be supportive and do what they could to help. However after seeing that side of someone, it's hard to see them the same way you use to.

"Well she said that she thought she was, _"headed in the direction"_ of getting better. So I think that's a good sign. Though it's the only one I have." Robin said staring into nothing with a blank expression holding his features.

"Once friend Raven told me of her depression, she described it as heartbreak," Starfire said emerging from the kitchen, "she said that she felt as though life was _"breaking"_ her heart."

The three boys looked at the beautiful alien who seemed sad at the thought as her eyes became less bright and her face lost it vibrancy. Her words seemed to cause a joint reaction in her friends as they all recalled at least one incident in their lives where they'd experienced that kind of pain. The words echoed through those memories and clung to the regrets that stood by them. Starfire added that this was how Raven felt every day of her life, that every day she relived the same heartbreak.

The thought made Robin lose his breath for a moment; he didn't want to think of how that must've felt. To relive such an awful feeling, must have been torcher, watching everything slipping away and having no control to stop it, nor the grip necessary to hold on. Then to be left with nothing, but the pit in your chest, that empty feeling, radiating with a sickening pain because everything was gone.

"That is really fucking depressing." He said aloud, without meaning to.

His team looked over at him as he realized they'd heard him. However, he didn't feel embarrassed, he was too caught in his head to feel something so mundane. He was just a little taken off guard was all.

"Your right that is really depressing, I can't imagine having to feel the way I felt after my lab accident." Cyborg said in a rough tone. "That day changed my life entire and I never thought I'd ever be happy again, but then I met you guys."

Robin looked over at the mechanical man; he knew how hard it was for his friend to come to terms with who and what he'd become. Victor Stone had literally died that day, not just physically, but emotionally. With the loss of his physical humanity, he also lost the life he once led. He could no longer be the star athlete that he once was, nor could he pursue his dreams of becoming a professional one. That part of his life had come to an abrupt end, the only difference was poor Victor was still alive to witness the mourning process.

For years he stayed out of the sight, slowly becoming less in touch with the world. It wasn't until the Teen Titans, that he finally found a new place to rebuild, a place with others who also had a unique set of circumstances that made them far different from the world. They helped him to realize that he still possessed his humanity and he always would, because it wasn't those physical parts that made him human, it was what lay below them.

"So did Raven say we could visit her?" Cyborg asked.

"She said that she wasn't ready yet, she is still adjusting." Robin replied in a robotic tone, falling back on the speech he'd rehearsed during his walk home.

"She doesn't want to see us, does she?" The green boy said a little wary.

Robin's face fell in a slight panic, which could be seen by all as he was still maskless. "No, that's not it, why would you say that?" He said trying to conceal the deception in voice which was difficult because his eyes were out of sync.

"Because I know you all think I'm not that sharp, but I'm not stupid and I know Raven, and I know that she's probably really freaked out that we saw her that out of control." Beast Boy stated to everyone's surprise.

It was true, it wasn't that they thought Beast Boy was stupid, they just thought of him as irresponsible and immature. He was constantly in his own world and hardly ever took anything seriously. Not to mention his tendency to speak without thinking (which he never seemed to fail at).

"Your right, she doesn't want to see you guys. She is afraid of what you'll think of her," Robin said with a bit of defeat in voice, "She feels really guilty about putting us through all this."

The rest of the team fell silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. Robin wasn't sure if they were offended or if they couldn't bring themselves to understand.

"Does Friend Raven think that we have not forgiven her?" Starfire asked.

"I think that's the problem Kory, she is tired of having to be forgiven." Robin said unaware of the words that left his mouth. Once they were released, he froze as the rest of the Titans looked at him, awkwardly waiting for him to explain, but he couldn't.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Beast Boy asked, not quite catching on to what Robin had said.

"I don't know I'm still trying to make sense of the situation and everything that's happened." He said recovering quickly. "I'm gonna go to my room for a while, I'll see you guys later okay." He said quickly and rose from his seat before another question could be asked.

Once he was safely within walls of own his room, he took a deep breath. He wasn't sure what to think of his response. Was he finally beginning to understand Raven on the level he'd strived to for the past two years? It made sense, all Raven ever did was apologize for being what she was and what came along with it. That had to have gotten tiring after a while, to constantly be looking to be forgiven for things that fell out of your control. Was that what all this was about, _control?_

She'd spent her entire life trying to maintain it, yet Robin had a feeling she never really had it and he knew that must have been frustrating for her. He himself knew what it was like to not have control and to be told who and what to be. It was a difficult place to live, that was why he left Gotham.

He sat down at his desk and took a long breath; it was moments like this when he would find himself lost and unsure of where life was taking him. There were no clear answers, with no set paths, just dark halls engulfed in shadows, too thick to see the end through. _You could always just walk away,_ said a voice in the back of his mind, as a part of him was not quite ready to accept the challenge. "Not even an option," he responded aloud to the thought. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but nothing ever was, Bruce used to tell him that all the time.

" _You can run as fast as you want, but Time will always catch up to you,"_ the words echoed through his thoughts, like an old song. The old memory lingered as he reached for an old notebook that became harshly weathered over the years. It was quite thick and had years of personal notes written in it. It had been a gift from Alfred, shortly after a young Richard Grayson had been taken in by his new guardian and future adoptive father. Alfred had always been an important person to both Bruce and the young boy and Robin was glad he had the privilege of knowing him. He thought back to the day he'd received the notebook. Alfred told him that sometimes people feel things they can't speak, and that is why they turn to writing, to say what they can't. He gave him the heavy notebook and told him that there would be times he would find himself with so much to say, but none to listen and that the notebook was for those times.

"This is one of those times," he said under his breath as though he was speaking to a ghost from his past. He opened the notebook and looked back at the first entry, barely legible and littered with poor grammar and obvious spelling mistakes. He didn't write in it as frequently as he once did, not like he had when he was in Gotham. But after turning through the years of childhood memories and forgotten thoughts, he finally found a blank page that was more than happy to express his thoughts as he wrote the following:

_So I just put my foot in my mouth. Kory asked me if Raven thought the team had not forgiven her yet, and I responded with, "I think she is tired of having to be forgiven." So now the team is probably going to be beating down my door for more answers I don't have and asking why I would say that. And the truth is, because that is just how I feel._

_I mean it's obvious Raven is sorry for all this, she told me so herself, but I get the feeling that part of the reason she is in this situation is because she's tired of having to explain herself, I know I would be. It's not like she can help most of the things that happen to her, yet she is always the one left to give an explanation. Maybe I'm the only one who realizes this because I'm usually the one asking her all the hard questions? I don't even know if this theory is right, but I think I need to just start accepting things for what they are and stop digging for answers to things that are difficult to give._

_This is hard, I'm the only one who has seen Raven in the last week and I was there before and after she crossed the line, so everyone looks to me for answers. But I don't have them and it is really fucking frustrating. Everyone looks to me to fix this and I can't. I can only stand by and wait to see what happens next and do my best to catch her if she falls, but there is no one here to catch me._

_Normally, Raven would be the person I'd turn to in a situation like this. Where I didn't have the answers I needed and she would help me find them. She never shamed me for being vulnerable and she never flinched when she saw my dark side. She accepts it, she isn't drawn to it, like Barbra was and she isn't blind to it like Kory. She sees it and she accepts it, she sees me. She's not in love with Robin and she's not chasing after Richard Grayson, she sees me for who I am, beyond my mask and she knows who I am without it. I can't turn away because of her darkness, it's a part of who she is and I accept it, just like I accept the rest of her._

It was then he heard a knock at his door and got up to answer it. Before he could open it he heard a familiar, but muffled voice call from the other side. "Hey Dick are you alright man?" Cyborg yelled waiting for the door to open.

Rodin opened it to reveal the robotic man, who had a concerned look constructed on his face. Robin wasn't surprised to find him there, he was actually expecting it. He honestly would have begun to worry if he hadn't come to check up on him.

"Hey Vic, I'm fine, just trying to sort things out." Robin said with a sigh.

"I know it's just what you said earlier…"

"I'm not gonna apologize for what I said, it's just how I feel" he said in a stern voice cutting the mechanical man off.

"Dick I'm not here to lecture you about it, I agree with you," Cyborg replied to Robin's surprise.

"Then why are you here if you agree with me?"

"Because I know that was hard for you to admit," Cyborg began, stepping into his leader's room, "listen, I know that it's hard for Raven and life has dealt her a tough hand. Ever since we met her we've constantly told her that we accept her for who and what she is, as we do with every Titan…"

"But Raven is the only one whoever has to explain herself to us," Robin said once again cutting him off.

"Exactly and maybe we need to think about that. I don't want Raven to think that she needs to be forgiven, I want her to feel like we accept her and well," the robotic man paused trying to find the right words to finish his statement.

"And you think that we don't act like we do?"

"Yeah, but I never really realized it till now," Cyborg said with a reluctant shrug, "I know we can't condone what she did, but maybe we can try and understand why she did it, so that it doesn't happen again?"

Cyborg always had a soft spot for Raven, she was the younger sister he never had and the thought that maybe she felt he didn't accept her didn't sit right with him. Robin recalled seeing his reaction that night at the hospital. Cyborg was out with Beast Boy getting dinner and had rushed to the hospital once he had gotten the news. Leaving Beast Boy to find Starfire who'd ventured to mall by herself. Cyborg was more than panicked and wanted to know everything that had happened down to very last detail. Robin told him mostly everything, how he'd found her, and why he was in her room in the first place. To apologies for the fight they'd, but left out what the fight was actually about. Robin could see that Cyborg had a questioning look in his eye about the altercation, but felt it wasn't worth pursuing under the circumstances. He was too worried about whether Raven would live or not.

However a few days later when the doctor sat both Robin and Cyborg down to discuss having her committed, some more disturbing details were revealed. They were no surprise to Robin, but to Cyborg they were unknown and shocking, and he was even more shocked to find out that Robin knew all about them.

"What do you mean you knew!" The mechanical man yelled once they were outside of the office.

"I found out on accident and she begged me not to tell anyone." Robin said trying not to raise his voice.

"So you thought it was a good idea to just let her keep on doing that!"

"No! Of course not." Robin yelled, failing at his attempted to keep the argument from increasing in volume. "I told her I wouldn't say anything as long as she saw that psychiatrist she has been seeing."

"You mean, _was_ seeing? She stopped remember? The doctor just fucking told us that!"

"Well I didn't know! And beside she said she would stop! She promised she would!" Robin scuffed trying to defend his actions.

"Well she didn't and look where it got her!" Cyborg hissed in disapproval.

"I know she didn't stop, that's why we got into a fucking fight, because she was still hurting herself and I fucking lost it! Okay, it's my fault!"

Robin stormed off and headed back to the tower without Cyborg, leaving him behind at the hospital. By the time Cyborg had arrived home, Robin was gone and nowhere to be found. He only found a note from his leader that stated the following:

_Victor,_

_I'm sorry for not telling you about Raven, but I thought if I betrayed her trust she'd never trust me again and then I wouldn't be able to help her, which I failed at anyway. So I guess it doesn't matter, but whatever. I left for a few days, I know this is really shitty timing, but I can't stay in Jump right now. I'll be back in two days, and I'm leaving you in charge till_ _I get back. If you need me, I'll be in Gotham._

 _-_ _Dick_

Robin was true to his word, two days passed and on the second he arrived home to find his old friend waiting outside the tower with a distressed look upon his face.

"Did you have a nice trip Dick?" The robotic man asked, in a low disappointed voice.

"I'd like to say yes, but it's not like I went looking for a good time." Robin responded with a grave tone.

"Then what were you looking for?"

"I don't know," Robin said looking out to the water that held the image of the sunset in its reflective surface, "I think I was looking for answers, like why this all happened, who is to blame, is anyone to blame, and who the hell am I?"

"Well did you find it?" Cyborg asked raising his brow.

"I don't know." Robin said sitting himself down on a rock with a looked of defeat on his face.

"It's not your fault." Cyborg said out of nowhere.

Robin looked over at him and shook his head, "Well it feels like it is."

"Well it's not, I'm sorry for yelling at you and if I made you feel even more guilt then you already feel, then I'm sorry for that too." Cyborg placed a hand on the wounded leader shoulder. "None of us blame you for this."

"I do." Robin said and picked up his suit case and went inside, once again leaving the robotic man to his own thoughts.

"I'm sorry Vic, for not telling you about Raven and leaving like that." Robin said as they both now stood by the doorway of his room.

"I understand now, you knew Raven needed you and you were only trying to help her, "Cyborg said in his fatherly tone, "and I know why you left, you don't need to explain."

"Thanks Vic."

It was shortly after that, Cyborg left the room. Robin felt better after talking with him about what had happened in the previous weeks, but he still couldn't quite shake the feeling that was looming over his head. He once again sat down to his notebook, his thoughts had been broken and he could not quite regain his concentration. So instead he flipped back a few pages and began to read through some of the forgotten memories he'd written down.

As he skimmed through the short entries, most of which were only, but a paragraph long. He noticed one in particular, which had been written immediately after the fight he had with Raven.

_I don't understand her, why would she do that to herself, to her body? Then she acts as though I'm the one who's wrong because I can't bring myself to understand it, and how could she even ask me to? But what she doesn't understand is that she also lied to me! She told me she'd stop and she didn't, so not only did she betray herself, but she betrayed me!_

_What else has she lied to me about? I mean it's not like we have been particularly close in the last couple of months, she's been so distant I can't even reach her anymore. I'm tired of sitting by, watching her run after rain storms and immoral solutions. I can't watch a person I love brand themselves and be fucking okay with it!_

_I remember after my parents died, I asked Bruce why bad things happened and he told me the following, "I don't think anyone really knows, but I think maybe it's because without the bad we couldn't have the good." I know that isn't an easy thing to answer and Bruce was only doing his best to give me something to hold on to, but I fucking hated that answer and I know he hated it too. Because it's hard to think that is why bad things happen, to help us appreciate the good in our lives, to justify why God permits evil. I mean what kind of fucked up ideology is that?_

_Maybe there is no balance, maybe there's nothing beyond this world? Maybe life just adds and subtracts with no preference as to who it takes out? Is that all life is at the end of the day, time just doing the math? Whatever, I'm going to go talk to Raven now, I can't just leave what's left of our friendship to deteriorate any further. If we even still have one?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ok so that 's it for this chapter, I hope you found it interesting. I figured we needed to spend some time in Robin's head, so I came up with this idea that maybe every so often he writes things down, so hope I it's not out of character. To be honest I don't really know how I feel about this chapter. Please review my loves and tell me what you think!


	13. Forgive Me I have, But Two Faces

_Maybe there are no Fairytales_   
_Though Violet_   
_could use one now_   
_Maybe there are no heroes_   
_but the kind that cry out, too_   
_Maybe Violet has the answer_   
_she's been looking for_   
_One day she is happy_   
_but there's always_   
_something more_   
_Do you know Violet's name_   
_I only know her face_   
_Maybe there are no Fairytales_   
_Though Violet_   
_could use one now_

_-The Last Dance_

He'd never actually been to Jump City before, though he knew much about it through numerous news articles that mostly feature a certain band of young heroes doing all they could to keep the city as safe as possible. He couldn't help but feel like a proud father when reading those articals. He felt as though he really had done something right with the young boy he'd taken under his wing almost a decade ago. Though it was clear that the relationship showed signs of _deterioration_ in recent years, he figured that it would eventually fix itself. He shortly realized after the young man's departure that he needed to let him find himself. Knowing he taught him well and that was what really mattered.

It was a mid-spring day and to his surprise the streets weren't every crowded. Still, those who passed by him seemed happy and care free. It truly was a different place, especially from Gotham. The weather was clear and the sun was bright, making the walk to the hospital calming. Once he found himself outside the entry way he took out some folded papers and looked them over one last time. He entered the building and approached the front desk.

"Hello I need to speak with a, Dr. Adam Graves," the tall stranger said to a middle aged woman who seemed to be manning the reception desk.

"Do you have an appointment?" the woman asked in an unpleasant voice, while covering the mouthpiece of the telephone. (Acting as though just the question was an inconvenience.)

"No I don't," he responded with a shake of his head.

"Well you need an appointment then," the woman said in an awful tone and turned her head down to continue her conversation, thinking it would be that easy to get rid of him.

"Well could you please ask the good doctor if he could see me today? I've come all the way from Gotham and it's very important," he said in a more stern tone this time.

The woman only shook her head _no_ , as she continued to go on about how her _"lazy ass husband"_ was a good for nothing something or other. When all of the sudden she heard the phone click, which was followed by the unwanted sound of the dial tone. She abruptly looked up to see the man still standing there, but he now had his finger on the phone hook. The woman was perplexed and annoyed, but the man remained cool and collected as he said, "I said please." A sly smile crept across his face as the woman scowled and dialed an extension.

"Yes Dr. Graves. I have an extremely impatient man here asking to see you," the woman said sarcastically then paused and waited for a response. "I don't know I'll ask," the woman looked up at the stranger and asked, "what did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't tell you my name," the stranger eplied as he took on a cocky grin, "but tell him that it's Bruce Wayne." The woman's mouth fell open for a moment in mortification. But before she could tell the doctor who was asking for him, the man added, "oh and tell him Dr. Leslie Thompkins sent me."

Before Bruce knew it he was granted permission to meet with Dr. Graves, who would have normally met him in the lobby, but was apparently finishing up something of importance. Instead he gave the go ahead to have Mr. Wayne sent right up to his office. However, Bruce Wayne being _"Bruce Wayne,"_ had refused too be escorted to the doctor's office. He figured if he could find his way around abandoned warehouses and unknown underground tunnels, he could easily find a simple office.

Once he reached the medical ward he read the signs that presented themselves and found the one which was marked hallway B. He walked the long length of the hall down to the end, where the doctor's office was supposed to be located. As he neared the end he looked to the right to see office number thirteen in plain view. Once he was only a few feet from the door he could hear voices conversing in a slightly raised pitch. And of course, Bruce being the brilliant detective that he was couldn't help but listen in on the conversation.

"You know I can't do that," said a doubtful male voice.

"Oh come on Adam, ya know she was my patient right?" replied a flamboyant female.

" _Was_ being the key word Harley," the male said patronizingly. Bruce was confident this voice belonged to Dr. Graves as he continued, "Besides I really don't think she wants to see you."

"Oh that's just ridiculous, my little bird's just a little shy is all. I betcha she would be happy to see me! We use to have the most _interesting_ little chats ya know?"

"Harley, not only can I not discuss her case with you, but even if I could, I wouldn't and I'm not going to let you see Raven either." The doctor's voice was heavy with frustration and something of a protective nature. Bruce couldn't help but feel as though the two had some kind of history that went beyond working in the same hospital.

"You know she never actually told me she wasn't interested in seeing me no more. I could always pull rank," the woman said a bit threatening.

"That would never work; I can tell you right now she told me she is _not_ interested in being under your care," the male asserted raising his voice even more.

"One last chance hansom, you can either transfer her case to me, or else." Bruce could hear the slight hint of seduction she held in her voice while still holding on to her threating tone, which didn't sit right with him.

"Get the hell out of my office Harleen."

"Then you're gonna be real sorry Adam," the woman said in a dark voice that even made Bruce raise an eye brow in surprise.

Just then the door swung open and a tall, very pretty blond stepped out of the office. Her face still holding a sadistic smirk upon it. That is until, she collided with the Dark Knight.

"Oh why don't ya…" the woman began to hiss until she looked up to find a handsome, very well-dressed man standing in front of her.

"Why don't I what?" the man asked in a curious tone.

The woman put on a confident smile and pulled out a card from her shirt pocket and said, "Why don't you call me if you're interested in taking me out for a drink Doll."

An amused Bruce accepted the card, and read, " _Dr. Harleen Quinzel_." aloud, as the male doctor peeked his head out of his office to see what all the commotion was about.

"Can I help you?" the doctor asked with little amusement.

"My personal number is on the back," the tall blond whispered to Bruce before looking back at Dr. Graves with a look that could've killed, if such a thing was possible.

Before Bruce acknowledged the doctor; he let his eyes study the pretty psychiatrist. Not out of attraction, but more out of curiosity. There was something quite off about her, and he couldn't quite figure out what.

"Yes, I'm Bruce Wayne you must be Dr. Graves."

"Yes I am, please come in." the doctor replied motioning him into the office. "So now what can I do for you Mr. Wayne?" he asked while closing the door then took a seat at his desk.

"Well it's my understanding that you are currently treating a patient by the name of _Raven Roth_."

"I'm not at liberty to discuss whether that is true or not and even if I was…"

"You would not be at liberty to discuss her case with me. I know, but I'm not here to discuss her case," Bruce said finishing the doctor's statement.

"Then what _are_ you here for?" the doctor questioned in a puzzled tone.

"I would like to speak with her if possible?" Bruce replied.

the doctor his face filled with question. "Now why would you think I would allow that?"

"Well because she is a very good friend of my adoptive son and he asked that I take the time to do so," replied a confident Bruce. "He thought it would mean lot to her if I took some time to speak with her."

"Well I'm sorry, but your son does not have the authority to make those decisions," the doctor said, still unamused.

Bruce smiled confidently,"Well he is listed as her next of kin, so that does make me family."

"Are you telling me that Richard Grayson is your son?" Dr. Graves asked with a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Yes," he responded, pointing to the doctor and with a sly motion.

"I still can't just allow it," he insisted. He couldn't just let anyone see patients based on random information that for all he knew was not even true. He had strict guidelines to follow and the safety of his patients to keep in mind.

"You can't, but Raven can," Bruce suggested with a sly smile that stretched across his face, "if she agrees to see me of course?"

Dr. Graves was speechless for a moment as he looked back at the confident man. He could see not only by the look on the man's face, but also by his body langue that he was used to getting what he wanted. Though he was wary to just allow him access to his patient. Mr. Wayne was not only a grown man, but his reputation was infamous. It wasn't that he thought anything derogatory about him, but the fact that he insisted on seeing a young woman who was hardly an adult raised a few questions. "That's if I even ask her," Dr. Graves said in a protective tone.

"You really don't let anyone push you around, I respect that," Bruce said leaning back in his chair, "but neither do I."

"Why do you want to see her so badly?"

"Because I have some experience in this area, and like I said, I was asked to speak with her," Bruce responded. "May I ask you something Dr. Graves?" The doctor waved his hand in a welcoming motion, causing Bruce to smile as he said, "What did that pretty Dr. Quinzel mean by you'll be sorry?" His voice got a bit darker, causing the doctor's face to harden.

"I don't know," Dr. Graves said with his voice becoming more graveled and slightly upset that Bruce had obviously heard most of the conversation. "She's just immoral… and cruel," he said taking a moment to look Bruce square in that eye.

Bruce hardly reacted; he'd looked into the eyes of one too many mad man to even be the least bit intimidated, but he could see the doctor's honesty. There was something about Ms. Quinzel and Bruce decided to use that. "Well how so?"

"She uses people, she doesn't play by the rules and she's the type of person who will hold you with one hand and stab you in the back with the other."

"Well then it sounds like you should look behind you," Bruce said with a dark humor. "So why does she want to see Raven?"

"She used to be her patient."

"But she isn't anymore, why is that?"

"Nice try, but I can't answer that." Dr. Graves said with a patronizing smile. "I'm a psychologist, I know these tricks, I use them."

"Well then I'll just ask her myself."

"Don't, do that," Dr. Graves commanded in a low voice, "I'll ask Raven if she's interested in seeing you and if she is then I'll allow it, but if not you are going to have to leave empty handed."

He rose from his chair and moved toward the door and stated that he'd be back shortly after he spoke with Raven. Bruce nodded with a confident grin, knowing the doctor wouldn't come back empty handed. Once the door was closed, Bruce found himself alone. After waiting a few minutes a thought crossed his mind, causing him to reach into his pocket and pull out his cell phone. Then before he knew it, Alfred was on the other line.

"Hello Master Bruce. Have you spoken with the young lady to whom Master Richard is so found of?" Alfred said in his crisp British accent.

"No, not yet, she should be arriving any moment. I need you to do me a favor. Can you a do a background check on a Harleen Quinzel? She's a psychiatrist at the Jump City Psychiatric Hospital."

"Of course Master Bruce," Alfred responded in compliance.

"Thank you Alfred." Just then he could hear the doorknob began to turn and the door began open, "alright Alfred I have to go now."

"Alright Master Bruce. Please give Master Richard my best."

"I will, good Bye."

He turned his head to find a very small stature of a girl entering the room. On her face she wore a questioning look, as she closed the door behind her. Bruce found himself surprised; he'd not pictured the girl to be so small. He'd never seen her in person, nor without her cloak, which she used to hide her face. He'd truly thought she'd have been taller and far more muscular much like most of the female heroes he knew, but she was roughly around 5'4", and very petite. She was actually quite delicate looking. She looked over at Bruce, giving him a better look at those vivid violet eyes of hers. He found them quite striking as he'd never seen anything like them before.

"So you wished to speak with me Mr. Wayne?" the girl said, taking a seat in the vacant chair across from him.

Bruce watched her as she did so, taking in her demeanor and motion. She seemed a bit distant and cold. He noticed her began to tug at her violet hair which was a rich dark shade of the color, and contrasted well with the wintery hue of her skin. He thought it funny that even in her disheveled state, she was actually quite pretty. Though she was not pretty in the conventional sense, she had an odd beauty about her that was dark and mysterious provoking a strange attraction to her. She was like a rare creature one only sees once in a lifetime, if at all. It was upon this thought that Bruce realized that this must have been part of the reason Robin was so fond of her, her demonic beauty was captivating.

"Yes, I just wanted to ask you why you always cover up such a lovely face?" Bruce said in a flirtatious tone.

Raven raised an eyebrow, and shook her head; she was clearly not going to swoon so easily as so many women do. "I highly doubt you came all the way from the other side of the country to flirt with a psychiatric patient," the violet haired girl said in a skeptical voice, "unless you're into the sort of thing?" Her voice was cynical and sarcastic, as she rolled her eyes in distaste.

"Well alright maybe that's not quite the reason I came, but I thought it was worth asking…"

"Richard sent you didn't he?" The demonic girl said cutting of confident billionaire.

"So I take it you know who I am?" Bruce said with little surprise. He figured that most of the Titans were aware of his identity, or at least the more observant ones.

"Yes."

"Pretty and clever, no wonder why Dick has taken a liking to you," Bruce smiled charmingly, yet Raven still didn't look amused. He couldn't help but find himself a little off put at her slight hostility.

"Yes because if I wasn't pretty, then my entire life would be absolutely meaningless." she replied with a sarcastic irony. "So why did Richard send you here?"

"I'm not sure; I think you're supposed to tell me that." The dark man said in a mysterious tone.

Raven looked at the corner of the room, she wasn't really sure how to respond to his question, nor was she sure if she wanted to. She didn't actually know this man, she only knew of him and as much as she respected him, she wasn't sure if she trusted him. This was mostly because she knew he was the type of person who didn't trust many people; he was no different than her.

"So how is your stay here?" Bruce asked trying to break the awkward silence between them.

_"I'm half sick of shadows."_ Raven replied, looking in his direction with her voice flat and emotionless.

"Reflections can be quite cruel," Bruce said to Raven's surprise.

"I didn't peg you as a man of poetry."

"I'm not, but my butler has a love for poetry and philosophy," Bruce replied with a smile as Raven shook her head with irony. "You look disappointed?"

"No, I just remembered that brains and brawn do not go together," she said patronizingly, mostly out of a crude humor that she couldn't help.

Bruce couldn't help but chuckle at her brashness, it wasn't every day that women didn't fall victim to his charm. "You realize who you're talking to right?"

"Yes I do, but I don't think you know _who_ I need to talk to," she said in an odd riddle, attempting to see if he was actually listening to her.

"Are you implying, what I think you're implying?" Bruce asked thinking about her words and taking them into consideration.

"Well Richard did send you here now didn't he?"

"You call him Richard?" Bruce asked, realizing that she never broke away from his formal name.

Her eyes girl filled with intrigued and reflected off her amethyst orbs."Yes, why is that odd?"

"Well, the only person who ever really called him that was his mother," Bruce said, descending into his darker persona.

Raven could literally feel the shift in his personality and demeanor. It was unnerving how quickly he could turn that side of himself on. Taking on a very different air about him that was more serious and in-depth. Whereas, _"Bruce Wayne"_ was more charming and a bit arrogant or at least that was what he let the outside world see. She could tell there was much more to him, but it was well hidden under many layers and a mask. _Well doesn't that sound eerily familiar,_ she thought as Bruce was now strangely remind her of Robin. There was something rhythmic in voice that provoked his image in her head. Something small, but recognizable enough that she could hear a resemblance to his. This didn't surprise her, she knew before Robin left Gotham how much he emulated the man and still did. She actually found it interesting to watch, seeing little bits and pieces of him reflecting off of Bruce, especially now that he'd settled into his darker role.

"He never told me that," Raven said looking into the man's eyes. "but then again there's a lot I never told him about my mother."

In the depths of his blue eyes, she could see a familiar recognition that she'd seen before in the depths of another's. "Well there are certain things about our mothers that we never share. We keep them to ourselves that way they belong to us and can never be taken away." His words were dark and heavy. Raven wasn't sure how he could keep such a stoic look on his face while speaking such bitter sweet things.

"My mother wasn't really allowed to spend time with me; she was hardly even allowed to touch me," said a nostalgic Raven. "The relationship I had with her was through the pages of the journal she left me."

"I'm sorry to hear that, she's passed hasn't she?" Bruce questioned still in a dark, but gentle tone, knowing that his question was more of a formality. Raven only nodded, the look on her face tugged at Bruce's heartstrings, playing a familiar song whose sad melody he knew only too well. "I'm sure Dick has told you about what happened to my parents; I understand how it feels to be alone."

Raven knew that he did understand to a degree, but it was deeper then feeling alone or unjust. She felt cheated and misunderstood as well. Not to mention demonized for her existence and empty for living, yet she couldn't die. Her being was confusing and bled a constant irony that went deeper than just the loss of her mother.

"Do you know what I found out about my mother when I read her journal?" Bruce only shrugged, as Raven the continued. "She's me," Raven said with her voice void of emotion. "She was just as lost as I am and her father controlled every aspect of her life and I know she didn't want that for me, but that's exactly what I got."

"That must be quite the defeat," Bruce said trying to identify with the bewildered girl.

"I know I'm not the only person in the world to ever lose something, but I feel like that's all I ever do" she said resting her chin on her knees which were now pressed to her chest.

"Then maybe it's time you learn to choose?" the man said, asking the question in a wise manner.

"I did. I made a choice and that's why I'm sitting here," she said with her voice laced in bitter irony, "I could either sink or swim and I chose to sink. I didn't want to be anymore."

"I had to make a decision like that once," Bruce said, his words reminiscent of a darker time, "and I chose to swim, but I do realize that swimming is not as simple as it should be."

Raven closed her eyes and turned her face from him. She couldn't bare the truth he spoke; she could feel his pain and his darkness as it reminded her of not only herself, but of Robin. It was difficult to take in and she felt almost inferior to Bruce. She knew that his life had presented its unfair share of tragedy and heartbreak, but it was the fact that he _had_ and always _would_ choose to swim that caused her to envy him.

"My mother once wrote me a letter and in it she wrote that she would have given me violets, but they all withered away before her father died." Her voice was melancholy and fragile as the words were cruelly poetic and slightly familiar.

"What did she mean by that?"

"That not only in life, but also in death, her father still managed to control her. And because of that she was unable to give me all good she wanted to."

Bruce found himself with distaste for the man and could understand how someone could still have power over another, even from the grave. He couldn't help, but think about his own mother. She was a kind woman who spent countless hours working with charities and doing her best to teacher her son what was important in life. He often wondered if he would have turned out different if she were still alive and what that would have meant for Gotham. However he fond the thought to be cruel and uncomforting for many reasons.

"You know my mother used to tell me that it's never too late to learn something," he said in a lighter voice, while a light smile crept across his face, "including swimming."

"So then what is the first step?"

"That is a bit more difficult." Bruce trailed off for a moment and took a deep breath, "You have to find the very thing that empties you and confront it, because only then can you accept it." His words were stoic and in italics as though they had their own presences and emphasized themselves. "So Raven, what is it that empties you?"

Raven thought about the question as it presented itself before her. She knew the answer rested at the bottom of her ocean alongside the bones and remains of the deceased parts of herself. Nothing more than another unpleasant memory she'd once laid to rest in hopes of forgetting, but never did.

"How is such a simple question, so difficult to answer?" she asked once again play with her violet locks.

"Because questions are simple, they fall within our nature, the answers however do not. They expose who we are and sometimes the truth is more damning then the question."

Bruce was right, she was afraid of the answer. She didn't want to reveal those parts of herself, she had been taught not to. It was actually quite ironic because on the one hand, she was taught to be passive and to not interfere, as well as to not seek vengeance or retaliate. Yet she was told she had to suppress her father's influences as much as she possibly could. She was told she had no choice, but to do so or she'd enviably lose herself to him. Yet at the same time, she was told that there was still a very good chance she'd lose the battle anyway. So what was the point, because it was all part of her destiny?

These thoughts were among the things that consumed her, making her feel as though she truly was only set up to fail and that her life wasn't worth living. She often thought that maybe if she was brought up to fight for what she believed in that maybe it would have made a difference in who she became? That maybe if she was taught to confront who she was, as appose to suppress it, that maybe she'd have the strength to swim?

She was pulled out of her thoughts as she heard Bruce began to speak. "I had to accept the fact that Time doesn't stop for any man and that no one can out run it, but most of all. I had to accept that Time will claim _all of us_." His words were haunting and fulfilled with acceptance. So much so that it was actually spine chilling.

"So how does that make you whole?" Raven asked trying to take the conversation to a deeper level where she could find answers.

"Because I had to make that difficult decision and _I chose_ to make my Time here _count_ while I still could. What I do gives me the strength to keep swimming. That was what I taught Dick, _how to keep swimming_." His words were striking and almost philosophical. Raven realized that this was the real Bruce Wayne. He was dark and possessed a certain depth that most people weren't capable of and he kept it well hidden under a persona. It was only a privileged few who were allowed to see the real man and it seemed Raven was now among them.

"But what if I'm incapable of swimming?"

"You're only incapable if you chose to be," he said with a shake of his head. "It's not easy, it takes time and there is always a possibility that you may have to sink a few times in the processes, but I think you already know that."

Raven remained silent for a moment and took his words into consideration. She could either sit there and keep making excuses, which she knew Bruce had no interest in. Or she could try to apply his wisdom to herself and at least try to learn something.

"So you're saying I need to attempt to grow my own violets?" Her voice was a bit softer and reflected an innocence that Bruce hadn't heard her speak before.

"Yes, just because they withered away from your mother, doesn't mean the soil isn't capable of creating new ones." The dark man said in an encouraging manner. "What is so important about violets anyway?"

"It's something Ophelia said to her brother Laertes," said a reminiscent Raven. "She handed out followers, each one representing a different emotion or sin, and violets represented faithfulness, as well as love, innocence, and happiness."

"So your mother felt like she couldn't give you those things because her father took them all way from her," Bruce said now remembering play. It had been years since he'd seen _Hamlet._ Alfred had taken him to see _it_ as a boy, taking the time to explain each character and the symbolic nature of the writing. He remembered him calling the outing a _"lesson in revenge."_

"Yes, she hated him. I know she said she forgave him for what he did to her, but the truth is she only said that because she was trying to move on," the girl said falling back into her melancholy. "She never forgave him and neither could."

"Well maybe that's part of why you're so empty?" Bruce suggested.

"I thought about it that way once, and I tried to bring myself to forgive him. Not just for me, but for the both of us and I couldn't do it," said Raven in a somber voice, looking away. "And it's not just because he didn't deserve it. He wouldn't have cared if I had. Just like he never cared how many times he hit his defenseless daughter or how many times he made her scrub her own blood out of the carpet." Her voice had now reached a more grave pitch as she slipped into a darker place.

Bruce remained silent for a moment before speaking. It was clear by the mixture of bitterness and hatred in her voice that she had no desire to forgive her grandfather and he couldn't blame her for it. He understood that there are some sins that can never be forgiven and he was the last person to tell her otherwise. He could also see that her feelings toward the man were not what haunted her. There was something else much more painful.

"Then what part of you do you feel that you're missing?"

Raven took a moment to think, not of the answer, but whether or not she trusted Bruce enough to tell him something so personal. When she finally came up with the conclusion she said, "I think in all honestly, I'm missing my mother." Her violet eyes seemed to fall from his glaze in an attempt to hind such a weakness from him.

Bruce wasn't one to get emotional, but a part of him knew that feeling and felt for the girl, but still kept his stoic state. "Well then maybe you should figure out why that is."

"Believe me I wish I knew how, but the more I find of her, the more I become her."

Bruce couldn't really find any words to comfort the young woman and after a few more bantering questions decided to take his leave. He told Raven that he wished her the best and to let him know if there was anything he could do to help her. He then Rose from his chair, but before he could leave the room, he heard the young lady say, "Do you now know _why_ Richard sent you here?"

Bruce turned his head back at her. He couldn't help, but notice that even with such a saddened look upon her face, she was still tragically pretty as he said, "I did Raven, don't you worry about that. And you should really try to smile more; you're too pretty to frown all the time."

"Yes, because apparently that is all I have going on for me these days, I don't have much else left," she said sarcastically while getting up from her chair.

"That's not true, you're a very smart girl and you're capable of far more than you think." Bruce said, making his way into the hallway.

It was then Dr. Graves, who was waiting a few feet down the hall looked over at him and smiled. "So did you get what you came for Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce looked back at Raven and said with a confident look, "Yes I did, thank you doctor." He then reached out his hand to shack the doctor's and continued, "Now Dr. Graves, I'm sure you're going to take great care of Ms. Roth?"

"Yes, to the best of my ability." He replied, and shook Bruce's hand.

"Well then I should be on my way. Thank you again Doctor and Raven, good luck with your violets." He said then turned walked down the hallway, leaving Raven speechless.

Once he reached the elevator and the doors had closed behind him, he once again reached for his phone and dialed a number. He patiently waited while a dial tone filled his ear until a voice could be heard at the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Yes, Dr. Quinzel? It's Bruce Wayne, the man who you ran into from earlier. I was wondering if I could buy you that drink?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:LOL I had to! Only because it's for plot and I just want to point out that this is before she actually becomes Harlequin, so this is pre Joker. But any way, I was trying to play with the characters here, mostly Bruce. Because I wanted to show the difference between the outer persona vs. the underling, inner persona. Because Bruce basically has two different personalities, which is a big part of the Batman comics and Bruce represents the perfect balance between the two personalities. Whereas other characters such as Joker and Two-Face represent the more extremes between their alter egos. So I hope I conveyed that in in this chapter, please let me know and Review! Thanks for reading my loves!


	14. Break The Chain

**Part 1 of Journal Entry #6: Stone by Stone**

Houses are built on solid ground and set on sturdy, flat foundations of stone and concrete, so they can weather storms and other harsh conditions. Giving them the ability to withstand the tests of time and provide shelter to those who need it. That being said, I have come to the conclusion that I have built mine upon sand, far too fine and delicate to support any foundation that attempts to stand on it. Unable to stand even in the gentlest of rainfalls as my foundation crumbles and erodes with only the greatest of ease. Then once the storm passes and the waves recede from the mangled shoreline, I'm left among the ruins with nothing more than a few bricks with which I must rebuild my life with. The bricks themselves have the potential to hold strong and withstand their tests, but they must be laid on a proper base to do so. So why, then, do I continue to rebuild my life on sand?

That is the vicious cycle of my life. I build it up to be fragile and weak. I do not prepare myself for the fall or brace myself for how hard I'll crash. These actions are what fuel my self-destruction, and create my unstable willow branch I never cease to fall from. That is the definition of insanity, you know, to continue to commit the same actions and expect different results. If this is true, and I don't doubt it is, then that must mean I am indeed insane.

In the last forty-eight hours I have learned a lot about myself, I still don't know why I continue to carry out these actions. However I realize I need to embrace change, try to move forward and stop living my life in the past, like my mother did. In any event, I have begun using a blue crayon instead of the purple one. This has little to do with the fact that my loyal friend has seen me through the beginning of this journey and has recorded countless details of my experiences here. It has more to do with the fact that I _need_ change, which is what I've been told as of lately, not only by my doctor, but also the one person I didn't expect to see. I know it's not exactly the most notable change in my life, but it's a start.

As for the details of what I've gone through in the last forty eight-hours, I'm not entirely sure where to start. I have so much to recount from the last few days and so little patience. But I guess I'll pick up where I left off. After I finished my last entry, I picked up my things and made my way to the nurse's station, which I now realize I have not yet described. It's about a ten by ten room with a large Plexiglas window, much like the ones you see in police stations. I find this a bit funny, because we're constantly told we're not prisoners, yet the nurses have a place to hide, just in case there is a riot (yeah whatever). Once I approached the window, one of the nurses noticed I was far from stable and immediately got up from her chair. I was still crying almost uncontrollably and hyperventilating, nearly unable to breathe. She left the safety of the station and came to see how bad the situation was. She looked concerned, but was trying her best not to overreact, as I could tell she didn't want to alarm me any further.

She asked me what was the matter and I explained to her, to the best of my ability, what was wrong. However this was far more difficult than one could imagine, since I was trying to explain through short, haggard, breaths and many tears. I was hardly able to speak a single word, so forming a full sentence was difficult under these circumstances. Not to mention the pounding migraine that was beginning to establish itself. She looked a little overwhelmed and asked me who my doctor was. I was barely able to manage that task and even then, she looked as though she could hardly understand me. She told me to sit down and to stay put while she went back into the nurses' station.

After she left I slid down the wall in defeat and hugged my legs while resting my forehead on my knees, trying my best to hide my eyes from light. When she finally came back, she informed me that she had called Dr. Graves and told him of my current condition, adding he would be coming up to see me as soon as possible, and that she'd been instructed to place me in an isolation room until he got there.

I began to pull myself off the floor as I was informed I could not bring any of my things with me. The nurse continued that she could put them in a locker so they'd be safe until my return. Since she wasn't sure how long I'd be gone for. With that I sadly handed over my books and beloved journal. It's funny how something as simple as a journal and a couple of crayons can mean so much to someone. The fact is, you aren't allowed many possessions here, and the few you are allowed tend to become your lifeline. I literally felt as though I was giving that woman my very soul and I suppose in a way _I_ _was._

After she locked my things up away from my reach, she took me back to the isolation ward. The cold white hallways were blank, lacking comfort and personality, which was exactly what they were meant for (to be plane). The truth is in a place like the isolation ward, less is better. One, because less things means a less overwhelming atmosphere and two, fewer things means fewer ways someone can kill themselves.

She led me to an unoccupied room and told me to sit down while I waited for my doctor, then left me to my misery. I remember looking around the room. It was almost identical to the one I spent my first two days in. There was no door and the white walls were almost maddening, as their stark color amplified my migraine. I looked around a bit frantically, hoping to possibly find a window, but I was not granted such a privilege. Not only did the room lack that comfort, but it also lacked a clock. That meant I'd have no real concept of time which was actually quite nerve-racking. The other room I was in also didn't have a clock and in its absence, seconds felt like minutes and hours felt like days.

There wasn't really any furniture, aside from the hospital bed, which only had one flat pillow and a very thin sheet. I just sat on the bed and sobbed uncontrollably, trying to catch my breath. My face burned with intense anxiety and my body began to shake uncontrollably. I honestly thought I was dying; that every part of me was fraying and unraveling at the seams. I felt as though my body had finally reached its breaking point and there were no longer any living parts of me left to salvage. I feared the plague had finally taken over and my humanity was gone.

After an unknown period of time, I heard footsteps entering the room. I looked up, taking time out of my self-loathing and distress, to see none other than Dr. Graves standing in the doorway.

"Oh God, Raven," he said, making his way to my bedside. He knelt down in front of me and placed his hands on my shoulders so that he was now at eye level with me and continued, "Raven look at me." I pulled my head up slowly until I was eye to eye with him, as he said, "Listen to me. I need you to take a deep breath. Can you do that for me?" I nodded and took a long, staggered breath as Dr. Graves continued, "Okay good. I need for you to tell me what you see, alright?"

I once again nodded and I responded with, "You."

"Good, what else?"

"The… wall."

"Okay, what color is the wall?"

"W-white," I mumbled, as I began to feel my breath becoming less haggard and my heart rate started to slow down.

"And tell me something you see on the wall."

"The… door...way."

Dr. Graves continued to ask me to either point out or describe more objects in the room, though there were not many. But I was eventually able to breathe at a more stable pace, though I now felt the exhaustion sinking in. My chest was rising and falling at a slow exerted rate as Dr. Graves turned to pour me a glass of water.

"Here. You need to stay hydrated," he said, handing me a paper cup.

"How did you know that would work," I asked in a tired voice, "what was that?"

"A cognitive diversion," he said with a clever smile, "an anxiety attack is the body's natural defense mechanisms kicking into action, because your mind is telling it there is a potential threat," he said, while handing me some tissues to wipe my tears with. "Your mind has been overwhelmed, and as a result, the constant stress and panic triggered an anxiety attack."

"So how does that little trick work?" I asked before taking a sip of my water.

"By distracting your mind from the thoughts and feelings that are causing your body to release the hormones, which are triggering the _fight or flight_ response."

"Fancy," I said sarcastically, but slightly impressed, "where did you learn that?"

"College," he said simply, with a nostalgic look on his face, "I had my fair share of anxiety attacks back then."

"You?" I replied, a little surprised. Dr. Graves always seemed so put together, so thinking of him falling apart made him seem a little more _human_.

"Yeah, I hit a slight rough patch, had a bit of an identity crisis, that whole song and dance," he leaned against the wall. "I'm not perfect, Raven. Nobody is and I had to learn that the hard way."

"You never intended on becoming a psychologist, did you?" I asked, catching a glimpse of something that stung of regret.

"I'm not gonna get into that right now… So what were you doing when the anxiety attack began?"

I paused and took a moment to consider my response. I didn't want to bring up my journal, mostly because I was afraid he'd wanted to read it. And since I didn't have it in my possession, I couldn't be certain that no one would.

"I was just thinking and I just got overwhelmed, I guess."

"What were you thinking about?"

"My friends, my situation, my life and my mother."

"So you were thinking about your lack of control over your situation?" he said, though I don't think it was really a question.

"Maybe."

"And how you don't even have basic control over your own body, now that you're here?"

"How the hell do you know that?" I sighed in frustration.

"Because it's my job. To know." He shrugged. "I can learn a lot about a person just by looking at their actions."

"So what have you learned about me?" I asked still frustrated, but cynically intrigued? "And be honest, I can handle it."

He looked me in the eyes and said dryly, "You lie a lot."

I furrowed my brow, "What makes you think that?"

"Because you look to the left a lot." His voice was flat, but very honest. "You also tend to pause before answering almost every question and sometimes, but not often, your words say one thing, but you shake your head in contradiction."

 _Son of a bitch,_ I thought rolling my eyes. I couldn't believe he could see such things in my body langue. Am I really that easy to figure out?

"I wouldn't say that I lie _a lot_ ," I said in a gravely monotone, "I just don't tell you everything."

"So you tell me a lot of half-truths." He responed as though there wasn't really much of a difference (which there isn't). "Which means you still fabricate your answers."

"Yes," I took a deep breath and looked away. "But I wouldn't go so far as to call it _lying_."

Dr. Graves looked a little disappointed with my answer, as though he thought that maybe I'd come to my senses and admit holding back a good portion of the truth was wrong. The ironic part was, if he knew the truth, would he understand?

"Raven, the problem with your theory is you're not addressing your problems, and more importantly, you are _lying_ to yourself. You can't face who you are if you keep telling yourself it's not real; and on top of it, I know part of it is because telling the _truth_ is something you can, in fact, _control_."

I wish I could have seen the look on my face, because I'm sure it was priceless. I was more than shocked, because I never really thought of my _need_ to keep the truth to myself as a _need_ for _control,_ but it was actually the truth _._ Dr. Graves was completely and one hundred percent correct, and I didn't even see it that way until he'd pointed it out.

"I really fucking hate you sometimes," I said without even thinking about my words. "You know more about me than I do sometimes, and you shouldn't. Nobody should!" I ran my fingers through my hair and shook my head furiously. (I was so frustrated that if my powers had been functional, I think every damn light bulb within a one-mile radius would've met an explosive end. I was that aggravated.)

"Raven, I only know what you tell me, which isn't much." He said sarcastically, "and because you don't tell me everything, it makes it hard to help you find solutions. You need to learn to trust me."

"But, I don't want to," I said, rubbing my temples as my migraine began to erupt in all its furry. "And why should I trust you?"

"Because I haven't given you a reason to not trust me," he responded, clearly frustrated, and in all honesty he was right. _He,_ as of now, hadn't betrayed me, or made me feel like any less of a person. To be honest, I think my whole problem is that he knows so much about me, yet I know nothing about him (which I find really unnerving.)

Dr. Graves crossed his arms and unconsciously began to grind his teeth. "Alright, I have an idea. Since you lack control over your situation, I'm going to give you a choice." He kneeled down in front of me, once more putting himself at eye level with me again. "You can either go back to the medium ward or you can stay the night here, in isolation, by yourself."

"Can't I just go home?"

He rolled his eyes, "Not gonna happen." I could tell he was getting a little annoyed with me. "Plus, I'm giving you a choice here; so be grateful and pick one before I choose for you," his voice was that of a stern father.

"Is this a test?"

"No, pick whichever one _you think_ is best," he said, once again putting on his, ' _I'm not bullshitting you,'_ face.

I was a little shocked. It seemed like he was trying to give me a real choice, and the fact that he was letting me decide _what I thought_ was best for me was oddly unexpected.

"You think I know what's best for me?"

"Yes. You're more practical than you think you are. Now make a decision," he said a bit shortly.

"I'll stay here," I replied, slightly unsure this was a legitimate show of good faith, or just a tool that could be later used against me.

Dr. Graves smiled and said with relief, "That is a very wise decision. I'll have one of the nurse practitioners come in and give you something for your migraine."

"How did you know I have a migraine?" I inquired with surprise.

"Do you really wanna know?" he asked dryly.

"No," I replied with another visible eye roll, knowing the answer would probably make me even more frustrated than I already was.

"Good, cause I wasn't gonna tell you," he replied with a weary drawl, and left the room.

I was once again alone and found it quite refreshing. I hadn't really had any time to myself without someone hovering over or around me. It was nice to finally breathe _emotionally,_ without taking in anyone else's thoughts, feelings or anything else for that matter. I could finally sort through my own fears and my own madness. I could just deal with _me._

I hadn't meditated in nearly three weeks; I didn't have the strength or the privacy while in the hospital. Here, I couldn't even take a shower by myself, let alone find time to mediate. I could barely even isolate my own anxiety from everyone else's, so to try and balance it would've just been futile. Not only because of how jumbled everything was, but I couldn't even begin to concentrate.

Finally the nurse practitioner came in and asked me some generic questions about my migraine. I told her that it felt like I had a vice on my head, and it was starting to affect my vision. I also mentioned that I was becoming extremely sensitive to light (so the fluorescents were _not_ helping my situation). She left, returning a few minutes later and gave me a cup with two small white pills in it. I looked at them for a moment with a critical eye. I wasn't really sure what they were and was a bit curious as to what I was about to take. It was then the nurse said that they were only extra strength aspirin and added that she thought they'd reduce the pain. I again looked down at two white pills and pondered whether asking her for information would even be worth it. I responded by swallowing the two pills, and handed her the paper cup, with a miserable thank you. Before taking her leave, she told me that if I were to stay in isolation then I'd have to wear a hospital gown. I remember rolling my eyes in distaste as she placed one on the bed beside me. She left the room for a few minutes to give me some privacy while I changed out of my knee-length leggings and black _Misfits_ baby tee. Once I'd put on the gown, I folded my clothes, and put them in a neat pile for the nurse to collect. When she came back in, she placed them in a bag and told me she'd have them put away with the rest of my things. She added that if I needed anything else someone would be coming in frequently to check up on me and left me to my very much appreciated solitude. (Thank God!)

I finally laid down on my (very uncomfortable) hospital bed and waited for the medication to kick in, which (to my surprise) actually did about thirty or so minutes in. I was then able to think a bit clearer as the migraine began to lift. After about an hour it was almost reduced to a dull headache (almost being the keyword) but I could still easily work with it. I turned myself on my back and looked up at the ceiling, trying my best to shield my eyes from the harsh glare of the light. With a sigh I closed my eyes, took a nice, deep breath, and slowly began to center myself. Now normally I would sit up to meditate, but I was far too tired to do so and I didn't want to attract attention to myself. I just wanted to be left to my thoughts and if that meant lying down to meditate, so be it.

It was a bit tricky at first. One's mind is more like a muscle than one might think. When you cease to exercise it, much like a muscle, it loses its strength and flexibly to a certain degree. In layman's terms, my mind wasn't exactly functional and it needed to be eased into the stability and concentration required to reach a proper deep state of meditation. After a few of my own cognitive exercises, I was able to reach a meditative state and began to sort through my mind, after all it had been through. Now I can't even begin to tell you how long I remained in this state, but it was probably hours. My mind was a place of ruins, filled with rubble, shattered like glass. It seemed my emotions had been wreaking havoc on the plane of my existence, and by the looks of it, they had the more manic emotions leading the charge. And people wonder why I can't trust myself?

Mentally I walked beneath a darkened sky, as Autumn's voice descended upon me with the foliage caught up in the wind. There was not a figure in sight. Yet I knew I was not alone under the night sky, for among the many stars that filled the infinite void above me, were a pair of unnatural eyes hidden among them, but unmistakably present. The scent of ash filled the air as the looming smoke assaulted my vision with every step. After making my way through a ridged forest of Hitchcock- inspired trees, the image of a house, still burning in the distance lit the night in a marvelous fashion.

The flames seemed to refuse to extinguish themselves, and from what I could see they probably never would. I guessed the house represented the broken feeling I hold for the family I no longer, and never actually, had. The house symbolized my tainted origin and the cruelty behind it. My mother traded in her abusive father for a group of people who used her _need_ to be loved against her, promising her a family and unconditional love from a man who promised to protect her. What she got was a sadist, incapable of love and protection, who only wanted her for the purpose of having a child who he was also incapable of loving or caring for. The sad thing is I don't know who's worse. My father for being what he was created to be. Or my grandfather for simply not being the man he promised to be when he decided to have a child. Is it possible they're both equally evil for making the decision to have children, but not having the decency to put their daughters' best interests before their own? These questions I'll never have answers to, and those flames will continue to burn for as long as I continue to breathe, and possibly even when I cease to.

The landscape was complex and mostly illogical to physics in this world, but in my mind, it reflects my illogical existence. I am a being that should not exist, yet I do, why is that? This question goes beyond my suicide attempt and far beyond my depression, because I truly shouldn't exist. I am the hybrid between a human woman and a demonic male, not even of the same species or the same world for that matter, so how is my life even possible? The only explanation I can come up with is human imperfection and the fact they can be corrupted gives an abomination like _me_ , the ability to be created. My suspicion is only confirmed by the fact that I'm not capable of creating life and to be honest I find relief in that. I would not under any circumstances want to pass down my genetics and repeat this vicious cycle with another tragic life. Even if I can't change my ways for the better, I know I will not be scarifying another daughter and this cycle will end with me.

These were only some of the things I had to sift through, during this mediation session, all while taking in the symbolic displays around me, including the season that was present. Autumn. It represents maturity and the coming of age, as well as the time before sickness and death. But more importantly, it represents wisdom, and Autumn's voice was telling me that through this experience I needed to learn and take in the wisdom of others. However, my mind in this state is hindered to learn, which means I need to strive for spring, so I may possibly grow the violets I was not given.

When I finally came out of my meditational state, the light in the room was dimmed and less harsh, indicating it was now well into the night. The halls were calm and quiet as only my breath could be heard as it escaped from my lips. For the first time in weeks I finally felt calm, my emotions were no longer screaming. They were only, but a dull whisper now, to the point I could hardly hear their chatter. I soon fell fast into a dreamless sleep, which I was surprised came without the aid of a sleeping pill.

The next morning I truly did feel much better. My head was clear, my thoughts weren't clouded by those of another's, and my emotions were under control. However though I felt much better, I was not looking forward to being thrown back with the flock of emotionally unstable people.

Now, for the most part, I would say that a portion of my fellow patients are actually quite normal, and are here due to unfortunate circumstances. Like Jack for example; aside from just being a complete shit show, he is not actually crazy. He may be a lot of things, but he isn't by any means certifiable. He just said the wrong thing, to the wrong shrink, (that being Dr. Quinzel,) and now by no power of his own is stuck here until he's seen fit to be released. However, there are others who are just plain out of their minds, and this is only one more stop on the "crazy train" for them. For instance, this woman Rita; she's is a paranoid schizophrenic who absolutely _hates_ men. She does not only spend most of her days alone talking to herself, but if a man even looks in her general direction she becomes frantic and violent because she's horrified of them. It's obvious she's spent most of her life being abused by countless male figures in her life, and it's quite heartbreaking to see. I only know this because even though she is incapable of telling me these things verbally, I can still feel them in her constant tension and awareness of every last man in the room. The rush of fear she projects whenever one moves near. To make this worse, she is not the only one who has some awful past that lingers with them, a lot of these people do. Maybe that's why we're all here, because life failed us all in one way or another.

Still as much as I didn't really miss my gaggle of misfits, I have to admit they are slightly entertaining, which was more than I could say for the wall I was being forced to stare at. I seriously spent most of the morning looking at that damn thing waiting for anything to happen, (which nothing did.) When I finally grew bored of that _thrilling experience_ , I moved onto trying to figure out how to fashion my sheet into a noose, so that if need be, I could hang myself out of boredom. Luckily for me, before I could figure out how to conduct such a feat, I was graced with another visit by my dearest doctor.

"You look bored." He said nonchalantly, not realizing I was contemplating proving that one could actually die of such a seemingly harmless experience. "Did you have a good night?

"Yes actually I did, I feel much better."

"Good, do you think you're ready to rejoin the group?" he asked, but I was hesitant to reply. Knowing I could either stay there and go mad from boredom or be driven mad by madness. And well to be honest I would've rather have been beheaded at the merciful hands of the guillotine, but that wasn't an option.

"I guess I'll go back to the herd." I said with a sigh as my doctor's face fell slightly. It was clear he knew I wasn't happy about it, but there wasn't a better option. However, I noticed there was something off about him. Normally he would've at least had some sort of witty comeback to lighten the mood, but he seemed just as unenthusiastic as I was. "You don't seem thrilled?"

He took a deep breath and leaned back on the doorframe as his facial expression seemed to fall a bit darker as he said, "You have a visitor."

"Richard's here already?" I said raising my brow in a touch of excitement because of how bored I was.

"It's not Richard," Dr. Graves said dryly.

"Seriously, I told him to tell the others _not_ to visit me yet, does that boy ever listen?"

Dr. Graves turned his head inquisitively, "So you want me to tell him to leave?" Dr. Graves said cocking his head in an.

"Who is it?"

"Bruce Wayne," his voice became flat as he replied.

I raised an eye brow, "No, for real?"

"Adam West," he said sarcastically, causing my eyes to roll, "no seriously, it's really Bruce Wayne."

I looked up at my doctor (who apparently wasn't kidding) with surprise wondering why of all people Richard's mentor came all the way from Gotham to visit me. I mean I'd never met the man before, and to be honest he wasn't exactly the person the Titans ever ran to for help, so why now?

"I can tell him to leave, if you really don't want to see him?" Dr. Graves said, softening his expression, "It's your choice Raven, I'll do what you think is best."

"Do you know why he's here?" I asked, still having trouble finding a valid reason as to why he felt the need to see me.

"He said that his son sent him," the doctor crossed his arms, "do you know who that is?"

"Richard sent him?" I furrowed my brow, realizing that maybe the _Titans_ wouldn't run to Batman for help, but _Robin_ would. Especially if Robin felt he couldn't save the damsel in distress.

"You don't have to see him if you don't want to, it's up to you."

"I'll see him," I said and swung my legs over the edge of the hospital bed.

Dr. Graves showed me back to the medium ward, so I could get dressed and get out of the flimsy hospital gown I was forced to wear. Not that my yoga pants and tank top where any better, especially coupled with my black hoodie which I was only allowed because it no longer possessed a draw string. _This is as presentable as I get,_ I thought looking at the reflection of the overly tired girl who stared back at me. I splashed some cold water on my face, in an attempt to wash away any anxiety that still lingered, but it didn't quite do the job.

Soon after changing, I followed Dr. Graves out of the room and down the hallway. He still seemed slightly put off, and I was beginning to think that maybe he was still a little upset about our little blow out from the previous day. He was somewhat colder than he would normally be and I couldn't help but feel as though he was on edge about something.

"Are you alright?" I asked in a removed manner, trying to see if his hostility was directed towards me.

"I'm fine Raven," he replied giving me a false smile, "just having a rough day is all." I could feel that though there was something wrong, it didn't have much to do with me, but it still had _something_ to do with me.

"I can understand how that might feel." The elevator door opened and we both stepped out into the lobby of the medical ward.

"You probably could, but it's my job to understand you, not for you to understand me," he sighed leading me to his office.

"Yes, but you know it couldn't hurt."

These words caused him to look back at me and smile with some sincerity, "It actually could."

I looked at him with my eyes squinted, as though trying to see something too small for his words to describe and replied, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, I just have to keep the line between friend and patient clear. If I get too personal with you, then you could get the idea that we're friends."

"I know we're not friends, so you don't have to worry about me becoming attached to you, but if you'd let me see your humanity more, I might just learn to trust you." I replied using the trust card to my advantage for once.

He stopped and turned to face me, I could see something break in his eyes as he said with a light laugh, "That would mean we were friends."

I shook my head at him and the fact he was mostly right. I know in his line of work he has to keep the line between friend and care giver pretty clear, with little room for negotiation. A good deal of mental health patients can struggle with this line and if a care giver gets too involved it can become quite blurred. This lack of clarity can cause a patient to think of their doctor as more than just a care provider. In cases like these, the end result could be catastrophic for both, the patient and the doctor. However this is not so much the case for people like me. I don't make friends easily and I don't form emotional attachments to people in short periods of time, _if at all_. I'm quite the opposite. Therefore I need to see a person for who they are in order to trust them and even at that I keep a more realistic set of expectation. I know this man is my doctor; he is not my friend, because he is nothing more than my doctor. But it wouldn't kill him to show me that he is _human._

"Well we're not friends," I said walking past him and rolling my eyes, "I get it, you keep up this front so that your patients can't become attached to you, but I promise you that I won't, I hardly even like you."

"Good, that means I'm doing my job."

"Then what does it mean if I hate you?" I replied, taking the lead in our conversation.

"That depends on why you hate me," he laughed ironically, "If it's because I'm making you see the error of your ways, then I'm doing my job. If it's because I'm not listening to you, or abusing my power, then I'm not doing my job."

"That sounds about right," I said referring to Dr. Quinzel.

"I know it does, but I can't help you if you like me too much, as well as if…"

"I hate you too much, I get it," I sighed cutting him as we approached the door. I looked back at him one more time before opening it. "But I still have to trust you doctor, and I really can't do that if I feel like you're hiding something from me."

Before he could respond, I opened the door and slipped inside the stark office. I could sense that my words provoked a wave of conflict over the poor man. He had to be ethical and moral, yet he knew that sometimes the line between moral and ethical was one that could be unclear. Maybe I was asking too much from him, maybe he thought I was trying to get him to falter and make a bad judgment call? Maybe we both just don't trust each other, I wouldn't trust me if I were him, and the truth was neither would him if the roles were reversed.

I closed the door noticing the broad, dark haired man inhabiting the room as he turned his head in my direction. I found myself a little startled at first, not because I wasn't expecting him to be there, but there was something dark in his eyes that caught me off guard. Yet as soon as I saw it, it faded away, but it was still enough to make me stop dead in my tracks.

The man smiled at me and I moved forward and slowly took a seat across from him. He was quite good looking with a chiseled bone structure and dark blue eyes that stood out against his jet black hair. As I observed his features I could tell he was observing mine as well.

I took a deep breath and gathered my curiosity as I said, "So you wished to speak with me Mr. Wayne?"


	15. Break the Chaine

**Part 2 of Journal Entry #6: To be**

"Yes, I just wanted to ask you why you always cover up such a lovely face?" Bruce said in a charming tone.

The dark man cracked an equally charming smile, though I found myself less than impressed with his compliment. Not that I wasn't a little flattered. Believe me I was, but I found myself a little disappointed the infamous Dark Knight's first thought was of how _pretty_ I was. This made me even wary of him. I wasn't sure why he came or what he wanted. Robin of course told me stories of Bruce, some good some bad, but mostly about the lessons he'd taught him. However, I found the man in front of me to be just short of the man Richard built him up to be.

I asked him what he wanted and why Richard had sent him. He didn't have a clear answer, but I got the feeling he didn't quite know for himself. Again, he bantered back and forth with me and fell on another shallow compliment, once again it was based on my looks. To which I responded with, "Yes, because if I wasn't pretty, then my entire life would be absolutely meaningless," a witty response of irony in its truest form. He looked a little put off at my response. I could tell he wasn't used to having a woman act so hostile towards such words. However, the problem wasn't the compliments themselves it was the fact that it mattered.

People don't realize we put too much weight on physical beauty. We concentrated it to the point where that's all some people care about. Now, I by no means consider on myself _a beauty_ , but from what I'm told from time to time I'm _"actually quite pretty."_ Now if this is true, then I can say that being _pretty_ has never really gotten me anything except a few shallow compliments and on occasion, a free drink. So, if this is supposed to justify the lack of value people have for my intellect or my feelings, then it just shows those things aren't as valued as they should be. (Oh, but I forgot that I'm _pretty_ so I guess the rest doesn't really matter.) Because even though I lost my sanity, my freedom and my credibility, I still have my beauty, and that's what really matters right? (Insert sarcasm.)

However, Bruce still looked puzzled. He was used to charming women with empty compliments and free drinks. I'm sure he never really thought of what kind of message that sends because I'm sure that's what society's taught him. (Pretty girls get free drinks.)

After a few more questions something dawned on me. I realized it was very possible that I wasn't really talking to the _man_ , but rather to the _mask_. The idea hit me when I referenced to a poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson. He responded by stating that "reflections could be quite cruel." The reason this struck me was because he didn't just recognize the quote, he knew what it pertained to and responded in an equally profound way. Now, the Bruce Wayne in front of me didn't seem capable of such depth, but the Bruce Wayne Richard told me of did. I raised an eyebrow in surprise as the man brushed off the comment as the work of his butler. However, the fact that his butler's words could hold so much influence on him only helped confirm my suspicion. That Bruce had two _different_ personalities, and I was talking to the wrong one.

After throwing him a back handed compliment I finally asked him (in my own way) if he knew which personality I needed to speak with. His response was just as vague as my question and for a moment I could see it didn't surprise him that I knew who he was. But it wasn't until I brought up Richard again that I saw Bruce slip into his alter ego. It was actually quite eerie to witness, like watching someone turn off a light switch and leave nothing but darkness. However that darkness showed me I was now speaking to the real man. The one Richard both emulated and resented.

He asked if I always called Richard by his full name, which I thought was odd. Nevertheless, I am aware I'm one of the few people to call him "Richard" and he isn't really fond of being called that. But I've called him this for years and he's never once asked me to stop. To be honest, I don't think I could bring myself to call him anything else. It would just feel wrong to call him by a different name.

Bruce also mentioned that he found it strange because only Richard's mother called him by his full name. I remember feeling a little off put by the statement, but I wasn't sure why. Richard's told me a lot about his mother, but he never mentioned this detail and I wanted to know why. Not that I have any right to, and I'm the last person who should feel as though I deserve such a privilege. I just can't help but think there's something more that might serve some importance.

As I was thinking of this, Bruce said there are some things about our mothers we don't share, and he was right. Granted, I don't share much about mine mostly because I feel her secrets are finally safe with me, and they aren't mine to tell. They are also all I have left of her and unfortunately they're all I'll ever have. Maybe that's why Richard allows me to call him that, it reminds him of her and that means something?

Somehow Bruce and I stayed on the subject of my mother and I ended up telling him more about her, including her _violets_. I explained to him what violets represent and that my mother got the idea from _Hamlet._ He looked a little intrigued by the thought as I told him of Ophelia's _Mad Scene_ and how she handed out different flowers with different meanings. I explained that Ophelia ended her speech with, "Oh, you must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died."

What most people don't realize is rue signifies regret as daisies symbolizes unhappy love, whereas violets represent happiness and innocence. When Ophelia's father died, those things were taken away from her. However, my mother felt her father took those things from her long before his death and in turn, he also took them from me.

I never met the man and the closest I've ever gotten was when I attended his funeral. I remember sitting in the church and looking around at what little meaning his life had amounted to. Not a single friend was among the attending. Only a few people from the local church he frequented and the priest who was holding the service. The only family member to be found was myself, and I wasn't exactly in mourning. If anything, I was considering what kind of human being I was because I was actually happy he was dead. I know that was cold of me, but he was an awful excuse for a man. He caused my mother so much pain and anguish, and she carried it with her for the rest of her life.

The sad part was I didn't go to my grandfather's funeral to think about how much I hated him. I went there to forgive him. Not just for me, but for her. I know she wanted to forgive him and she'd told me she had, but I could still feel how much hate she harbored for him. He was a scar that would never fade and as much as she wanted to let it die, she couldn't. I remember staring up at the crucifix and hoping that God himself wouldn't grace that man's soul with the forgiveness he didn't deserve. It was at that moment something occurred to me. What if it wasn't God who was supposed to forgive us, but rather the people we've hurt the most who's forgiveness really mattered? Think about it. There are just some sins that can never be forgiven, and to be honest, I don't think my grandfather ever really cared if he was forgiven. If he had, maybe there would've been at least one friend there to bid him goodbye and see him off to the next life. But all he had was me, and I hoped he was going to burn in lowest circle of hell with my father.

I didn't tell Bruce about me going to the funeral. I hadn't even told Richard, and frankly, I don't think he would understand or approve for that matter. Richard's always been more than forgiving and I couldn't bear to tell him was I happy to know a man was dead. Bruce, though, could see that forgiveness was not something my grandfather deserved or would ever get. He also saw that I could live with it. So he let me have my bitterness as I could see he had his own.

Our conversation ultimately boiled down to the fact that I need to grow my own violets and if I'm to do so, then I need to choose to. I need to live up to something more than what I've become and I need to learn how to change my steps. I have to stop letting my depression be a rude house guest and send her away. I'm tired of rebuilding my life just to have it all fall apart once again. I'm the only person who can choose whether or not I get better and I realize I need to start. So now I face a new question, where do I start?

**A Memory I keep**

Once again he walked along the long hallway, keeping his goal and destination in mind. It was becoming typical for him to be doing this and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Raven had always been very protective of her privacy, especially when it came to her room. Still he concluded that she must've been aware of his access. How else would he have gotten her books? Though the first time he'd sent Cyborg in to retrieve them, as he couldn't bear to even step inside.

Even still, he couldn't help but feel guilty as he approached her door. He lifted his hand and began to ball his fist and upon realizing what he was doing, stopped himself, sheepishly running his fingers through his hair. He shook his head feeling a bit foolish for letting the old habit take over. A shallow sadness crept into his heart, leaving him hollow as he began to open the door. Silently wishing the nightmare had passed and behind it awaited the world he knew, but all he found was an empty room. The shadows filled the void before him, as though keeping the old ghosts company, with misery eager for its own companion.

"Maybe she should consider redecorating?" He questioned allowed.

The only response came from his shadow as he moved toward the book case. Next to her headboard, it was the tallest structure in the room, standing at an almost overwhelmingly height against the wall. This time was no different than before. He'd always felt overwhelmed looking at it, almost inferior. Even when she was present he'd always wondered how she could possess and read so many books. Her collection was extensive being heavily dominated with literature written in early modern English. And even old English. Most of her books he'd never even heard of, and the ones he had, were usually written no more than two hundred years ago or more. She also had a small collection from the early nineteen hundreds, mostly post Victorian, and leading up into the twenties. To his surprises she did have a few from the past two decades, but they were few and far between.

"I've never known a girl more in love with dead poets and philosophers." He said under his breath, looking through some of the stacks trying to see if he could find anything that looked familiar or possibly remember her reading. The problem was most of the books looked the same, being as old as they were. They all possessed a similar size, density, and in some cases color, with most of them being bound in dry, aged leather. However, one stood out. It was red with a spiral spine which didn't resemble anything else in her collection. It had been tucked away in a manner which made it difficult for him to see at first, but once it caught his eye it became hard to ignore. With curiosity resting at his fingertips he reached for the book and attempted to free it from the shelf.

As he was doing this, his grip faltered and stumbled causing the book to fall open on the floor. It was then he realized that the pages were filled with hand written passages, accompanied by smudges and scribbles meant to cross out mistakes. The first thought to cross his mind was that he'd found Raven's diary and shuddered at the thought. Fearing her most personal thoughts were now lying before him, begging to be read. But as he looked down he realized the hand writing wasn't hers, though it resembled it strongly. It wasn't as sturdy, being slightly ridged and written with angst; Robin had always admired Raven's penmanship, as silly as it was. It had structure and beauty, making even her notes and outlines extremely easy to read, whereas some of the other Titans could barely write a legible alphabet.

He knelt down to examine it further, wondering if his interest in the foreign handwriting was a violation of her privacy or not. He noticed the wear the pages bore and the light look of discoloration. This confirmed that the journal was too old to even belong to Raven, _but then who could it belong to?_ He thought to himself. Before picking it up he took a minute to think about whether he should put the book back and leave it alone or take a more in-depth look at it. His head told him to forget it and move on, but his heart's curiosity proved too strong to fight.

Finally he picked up the old journal and flipped the tarnished pages to the beginning in an attempt to find a name. Instead he found a sheet of aged paper, resting between the cover and first page. It was a letter in the same hand writing, but it had matured and now held a more sophistication to it. If he didn't know any better he would've mistaken it for Raven's. He found himself still hesitant to read the paper in his hand, but something almost like a distant voice begged him to, pulling at something far deeper than just a childish inquiry. Still, he knew this was an invasion of Raven's privacy and that if she ever found out about it she'd be more then livid. Not to mention that this whole situation started with Robin looking through her things. Yet somehow, even with his conscience heavily trying to persuade his reasoning, he still found himself beginning to read the letter.

_My Dear Daughter,_

_If you are reading this, then it is mostly likely my time here has ended. In this event I leave to you my journal, to keep my memory. I know our relationship was not what a strong mother daughter bond should've been, but just know that I love you just as much as if it were. It hurts me to know that I did not raise you and that you hardly know anything about me. This truly breaks my heart in a way that only a mother can understand. Yet I know that in many ways I cannot even call myself such a thing, though I care for you and love you deeply. I've failed to protect you as a mother should, and for this I am sorry. Please know you are the only thing I ever truly loved and no matter how your destiny plays out, you are my daughter and I will always love you._

_Please also know that it kills me that I could not show you this love, and my heart bleeds at the thought you may never feel this love for yourself. I take full responsibility for this. I can only hope that someday you'll be free of your father and you no longer pay for his sins, as I still do mine. I never wanted this for you because I know it all too well. If I regret anything it's the fact that my weakness is the curse of your existence, because you hate your father just as much as I still hate mine. I know rue suits me and I fear that's what I've given you. Just know, Raven, that I would have given you violets, but they all withered away before my father died._

_I pray your father does not have the power over you that mine possesses of me, even years after leaving his abusive hand. If I can leave you with anything, please remember not to keep yourself locked up and know you're only as small as you choose to be. Don't look for salvation on a crowded street, or in the arms of a single stranger. Know you are your own savior, yet still your own worst enemy, and "fear death by water." The art of drowning is a cruel fate and will consume you in forgetfulness. Forgetting one's self is the first step to emptiness. Emptiness cannot be filled with parallels because in the end all truths can become lies under the right set of words. Lies can only scar you and feed from you like the parasites they are, much like a leech slowly taking without giving anything in return. Most of all my dearest Raven, remember you are just an empty cage if you kill the bird._

_I truly wish I could have given you a different life than the one you must lead. I also wish I could be there for you, but we both know that is forbidden. I'm truly sorry, this letter and journal is the best I can do. In my absence I hope it helps you know who I was and who I don't want you to be._

_I have just one more request for you. I want you to wait and read the journal after your sixteenth birthday and if possible after the defeat of your father. This request I only make out of faith that you are indeed stronger than me and will one day be free of him. I may still be a victim of the past, but you don't have to be. Please promise me that you will learn from my mistakes and grow from them as I should have. I only hope you carry some sense of love for me in your heart, though it's possible they've made you incapable of such things. If so, then I hope this letter can open your heart to love and other aspects of humanity that have been denied to you._

_With that I must conclude my message to you. Please remember me often, and whenever you need me. I hope that one day maybe you can be to another what I could never be to you._

_Love, your Mother, Arella_

By the time Robin reached the end of the letter he'd already began wiping his eyes free of the tears that filled them. The words reminded him of his own mother and how far away she was from him, and the lifetime he'd spend without her. He continued to hold the letter in his hands, lost in the moment he'd just experienced. Raven never actually spoke about her mother. Robin didn't even know her name, let alone any idea of what kind of person she was. He'd always assumed that she died after Raven was born, especially because Raven was raised by monks and a woman she called Azar. These thoughts only reminded him how much he didn't know about her and how many secrets she kept from him.

After reality set in, he found himself now facing whether he should tell Raven he'd read the personal letter from her mother. He could see her face and the violent wave of destruction that would follow if her powers became functional. He actually considered pulling a "Beast Boy" and putting the journal back, (after of course reading a few pages) then never mentioning it ever again. Still, he knew he had to tell her, it was the only thing he could do. He'd been taught by his own mother that the only way to make a wrong right is to acknowledge it to the person you wronged.

With carful hands he folded the delicate paper into fourths and placed it in his pocket. Leaving the room he looked at the shadows around him happy to be leaving their company and closed the door. Once he was back in his room, he took a book from his desk drawer and placed it in a bag Starfire had filled with fresh clothes for Raven. Before setting off to the hospital Robin took a deep breath. He knew she'd be upset with him, but for some reason he didn't care. He just wanted to understand her better, and now he did.

Walking to the hospital, he decided to cut through the park, which was becoming quite normal for him to do lately. For him, it was like watching the world go by in photographs and they were only but the memories that wove his existence. The families he passed by reminded him of the one he once had and every so often he'd stumble across a father and son, which made him think of Bruce.

In a sense he actually missed the man who'd selflessly taken him in as boy. He helped him become the person he was today and there was nothing Robin could say or do to change that, even if he wanted to. Bruce may have been a lot of things, but at the end of the day he was still a better man than most, and Robin couldn't deny that. However, there were things about Bruce he resented that he wished Bruce wouldn't deny. Like his inability to see that he wasn't a boy anymore. He could still remember the look on his mentor's face when he told him he was leaving Gotham and going out west to find his own identity. Bruce of course was hurt by this and somewhat blindsided by his decision and as much as he wouldn't admit it, he felt as though "his son" was abandoning him. And looking back, in a way, he had. His absence was immediate, not even giving the man time to digest the news. Within hours Robin wasn't even in the same part of the country, let alone just a car ride away. He didn't tell Bruce where he was going, just why, _"I need to find out who I am out of your shadow Bruce, I'm sorry."_

_Bruce looked angry and betrayed, "So you're just leaving and you're not even going to think this through?"_

_"I've thought about it plenty Bruce, and it's time for me to go." Robin had never seen the man more embittered, and for a moment, he almost stood down. "Bruce, I'm sorry, but you've taught me all I needed to learn from you, if I stay here I'll-."_

_"You'll what?" Bruce growled._

_"Never mind. I have to go." Robin replied trying to keep a cool head._

_"Just say it Richard, you don't want to become me."_

_The young man froze in the doorway and closed his eyes at the tone of the man's words. "There's so much of you that is a part of me and I don't regret that, but there are other parts of you I can't bear to become."_

_Looking back at Bruce he knew it was the truth, but it was more than either of them anticipated._

_"Fine leave, get out." Bruce growled shaking his head._

_"Bruce…"_

_"I said get out, Richard."_

The argument ended there with Robin taking one last look at his mentor. With his heart heavy, he walked away, taking only his memories with him. It would take nearly a year before he and Bruce spoke again and even then their relationship never truly recovered. There was always an unspoken frailty between them, something broken that neither of them knew how to repair.

When Robin reached the hospital he stepped inside and looked around at the people coming and going. Straight ahead he saw the woman at the front desk and began to make his way towards her when he saw the elevator door open. A man with dark hair and a broad build stood with his back to the doors and his attention to the phone at his ear. Robin paused when he saw the man as though there was something familiar about him. Just as the man was about to turn around and walk out of the elevator he heard a voice call out to him.

"Hey pretty boy," he turned to see the woman at the front desk waving her hand, "You have to sign in first, remember?" She said in her usual less than pleasant tone.

"Oh, sorry Marge," he sighed, scribbling down his name on the clip board she held out. When he turned back to the elevator the man was gone and nowhere in sight. _It couldn't be, could it?_ He thought for a moment, but dismissed the thought. _No, if he was going to come all the way to Jump he would've told me._

He moved to the elevator and pressed the button for the desired floor and waited patiently for the ride to be over. His thoughts traveled to the past and tried to think of a simpler time, but he found those days to be hazy. He was only eight when his parents died and though it seemed like a life time ago, he still felt the sting the loss left behind as though it were yesterday. He remembered trying to forget those last moments, seeing his parents plummeting down to the ground while he was helpless to stop it. The world fell along with them and so did his childhood.

The elevator door began to slide open, catching his attention. He stepped out into the lobby area, gathering his train of thought. As he looked around at his surroundings he noticed Dr. Graves standing at the main desk where Robin needed to check in. He placed his bag down and greeted the man.

Dr. Graves hardly looked up from the chart he was reading as he said. "You just missed your father."

Robin's eyes went wide, "Father? What?"

Dr. Graves looked up and furrowed his brow. "Mr. Wayne? He said you asked him to see Raven?"

"Wait, you're saying Bruce was here, to see Raven?" Robin asked dumbfounded.

"Yeah," the doctor responded in a long drawl, "he didn't tell you he was in town did he?"

Robin declined to answer at first, wondering why Bruce would come to _his_ city and not even call first, but then added, "Apparently not."

"Sorry about that, if I'd known I wouldn't have let him see her." The doctor insisted.

"No, if he wants to see Raven that's fine as long as she's alright with it." Robin assured. Whatever happened between him and Bruce would stay between him and Bruce. The last thing he wanted was Raven in the middle of their history. "So how is Raven?"

"She's better now, but she did have a little panic attack yesterday, she'll be fine though." Before Dr. Graves could go into any more detail the men heard a flamboyant voice call from the direction of the elevator.

"Oh there ya are Adam darling; I was looking all ovar for ya!"

"Who the hell is that?" Robin questioned raising an eyebrow.

"The most venomous creature known to man." The doctor replied with a regretful look.

"Why the long face, ain't ya happy see me?" The pretty blond asked with her obnoxious accent.

"That depends, did you get demoted?"

"No."

"Then I'm not happy to see you." Dr. Graves said trying to walk away as Robin watched the two in disbelief.

"Oh Adam you were always such a wise guy." She smiled rabidly trying to shrug off the insult. "Who's your little friend?"

Dr. Graves looked back at Robin and as though weighing whether to spare him or let Dr. Quinzel sink her teeth into the boy. "He's a friend of a patient." He said shortly, as he answered a phone call.

"Dr. Quinzel, nice to meetcha." She said holding her hand out with exuberance.

"Richard Grayson. So, you're Dr. Quinzel?" Robin muttered off put, but in a curious voice.

The blonde's face lit up, "So ya hearda me?"

"Yeah, um… I recommended you to a friend of mine."

"Oh and who might that be?"

Robin looked over to see Dr. Graves silently mouth the word "no" and recalled how Raven never really had anything nice to say about the woman. "She ended up going to a different therapist."

Dr. Quinzel looked over at Dr. Graves who was finishing his phone call and shrugged. "Well I have to go pick up my daughter from school so I'll be seeing you." The doctor said placing his phone in his pocket.

"Oh, you're married?" Robin said not really thinking about the question, but before he could answer Dr. Quinzel chimed in.

"Nope, just a single dad is all." She added.

 _Well this just got kind of awkward,_ Robin said to himself and looked away to the security guard who'd approved his belongings. He then watched as Dr. Quinzel followed her colleague to the elevator, to his visible distaste.

"Oh it was nice meetn' ya Dick!" She called out in a flirtatious voice.

He waved and mustered a smile though his disappointment about Bruce had begun to sink in again. Taking his approved things he entered the common room where he found Raven sitting by her window. Looking out the filthy glass pain in a dreamlike state, almost the way he'd left her. She turned when she saw his reflection in the glass though faint and almost ghost-like. She looked back at him with a light smile and he returned his own as he began to move forward. When he reached the table he sat down across from her and reached out for her hand. He delicately took it in his, unsure of where to start, but decided to just come clean. He took out the old letter, placing it on the table in front of her.

She looked down at it for a moment and scrunched her nose as she said, "Why do you have that?"

"I have something I need to tell you." He replied and with a regretful look. "I read your mother's letter."

Raven's eyes widened, "And why would you do that?"

"Because it fell out of that old journal on your book case, I'm sorry I didn't mean to, it was just there. I shouldn't have read it."

"Did you read the journal?" Raven questioned in a cautious tone.

"No, just the letter. You probably hate me."

Raven leaned back and looked at the boy. She could see he was truly sorry for invading her privacy, but not regretful. "No I don't hate you, I'm a little disappointed, but I'm honestly not even mad."

Robin raised an eyebrow and a surprised look took over his features, "Who the hell are you and what have done with Raven?"

"It's still me stupid, I've just been doing a lot of self-reflecting lately, and I've realized that throwing a tantrum over an old letter isn't going to change the fact that you read it." She sighed as though it where no big deal.

"Seriously, what have you done with Raven?"

"Do you want me to hit you? Because I'm not above that yet." She said cynically and the boy laughed at her tone.

"Okay maybe it _is_ you after all." Robin chuckled and looked back at the girl who did seem a little softer than she'd been in a long time. This made him smile as a flicker of hope seemed to be shining through the darkness. "So, Bruce came to visit you?"

"Yeah, I wasn't really sure why you sent him, but I'm kind of glad you did." Raven replied, not knowing that Bruce had come of his own volition.

"It just seemed like you needed to talk to someone who understands the art of brooding as well as you do." Robin replied hiding the truth, not wanting the history he and Bruce had to impair her recovery because if she felt his visit helped her then that was all that mattered. "So what did you and Bruce talk about? If you don't mind me asking."

"Um, ironically enough, my mother."

Robin smiled, "Your mother really loved you."

Raven remained silent, unsure of what to say. She was aware her mother loved her more than anything, but it stung wildly at the same time. It was a bittersweet feeling that both elated and dejected her as well. Raven let go of Robin's hand and picked up the old letter, skimming the faded words she'd read a thousand times before. She could recall all the feelings she'd felt in the past when she'd read it. The letter had on many occasions brought her to tears or driven her into fits of rage. It fueled her empathy in a way she couldn't control, invoking the emotions she kept locked at the bottom of her heart. It left a bitter taste in her mouth and it was a defeat she could never overcome.

"So I guess the ghost of my mother told you a few interesting things?" Raven questioned softly and looked out the window.

"Yes, but I don't know if I can put them into words." Robin responded bringing his eyes to the window as though trying to see the world through her's.

Raven looked back at him a little bewildered and said, "What was it like when your parents died?"

Robin turned his head in her direction, shocked at the sound of her question. He was stunned and had never actually been asked that question before, but attempted to answer it anyway. "It was as if the world ended." He said softly and took a deep breath. "It was like everything I had to live for was taken away from me. The truth is, I don't know who I'd be if it wasn't for Bruce. He gave me something to make my life worth living for again."

A tear fell from Raven's eye and she smiled weakly at the boy. She could feel his pain, his loss and his truth all laced into the words he'd spoken. "My mother died when I was fourteen. I didn't have much of a relationship with her, I wasn't allowed to. Still, once in a great while we would actually talk, but it wasn't until she died that I realized how much I needed her."

"How did she die?"

"She died protecting me from my father. She sent me here knowing that Trigon was coming for me, she tried to buy me time. I don't know if she actually believed she could save me or if I could actually overcome my father, but I think she thought she was giving me what she was never given, _a chance_."

"I think she honestly believed in you more than she believed in Trigon." Robin said with a smile, "At least that's what it sounded like in the letter."

Raven retuned his smile and thought how it was so like him to go with the more encouraging side of the argument. The truth was she felt a sort of guilt over her mother's death, though deep down she knew her mother was living on borrowed time from the moment of birth. In truth her mother knew it too, she even wrote in her journal that she was destined to die, and die young. But the thought that her daughter was destined for the same seemed to be a defeat she couldn't accept. She may have been given nothing but rue, but that didn't mean that was what she'd leave her daughter, she had enough for them both. But what caused Raven's heart to bleed was all the injustices her mother faced, and in the end, she suffered quietly, dying for her daughter, because it was the only way to protect her.

Raven was all Arella had and she'd come to realize that it wasn't her mother's death that emptied her, it was her mother's life. A life of regret, pain, betrayal, and above all of it, cruelty. There was nothing Raven could do to change that, just like there was nothing she could do to take away all the things she'd done to herself. All she could do now was to choose _to be_ and not neglect to save herself.


	16. Shadows and Reflections

_"Cause I'm half sick of shadows_  
I wanna see the sky  
Everyone else can watch as the sun goes down  
So why can't I?"

_-Emilie Autumn, "Shalott"_

Visiting hours had come to an end and Robin bid Raven goodbye as she was whisked off to dinner with the rest of the flock. He'd actually spent all afternoon with her just talking about whatever came to mind. She told him all about her time in isolation, though most of it was narrating how bored she was and how she'd contemplated entertaining herself by scaring the hospital staff. Robin laughed at her cynical humor and shook his head in defeat, though he was glad she was finally finding comfort in humor. Before he left he pulled out the book he'd stashed away for her and placed it down on the table. She took it in her hands, tracing her fingers down its soft, yet worn cover.

" _House of Leaves_?" She asked reading the title.

"Yeah, it's one of my favorite; I thought maybe you'd like it." He replied with a smile. "I read one of those old poems you recommended."

Raven looked up at him a little surprised, "Which one?"

_"_ _The Lady of Shallot."_

Raven rested her chin on the back of her hand a little skeptical. "What did you think?" Her tone was now more serious and her eyes had more intensity.

"To be honest I found it interesting. The girl in the poem kind of reminded me of you." He said meeting her eyes.

"How's that?"

"She sees the world in reflections," Robin replied, "she can't live her life on her own terms and she's forced to watch as everyone else does."

Raven looked down at the table and sighed heavily, "I really am living my life through an archetype." She sat back and looked at the Boy Wonder, taking into consideration that he wasn't really a boy anymore. She began to wonder if he understood how she felt; he'd spent a good deal of his life trying to break away from his mentor's shadow. All he wanted was to be seen as his equal, that had to have been frustrating, constantly being looked at as a child. "She also kind of reminded me of myself." He added, causing Raven to look up at him. "I always thought my identity was to become Bruce and take up the mantle when he was no longer able to continue his work. I accepted that as my future because I thought that's who I was supposed to become. But at a certain point I realized that I wasn't Bruce and I never could be, and to be honest, I just didn't want to be. I couldn't stay in Gotham forever and I couldn't live my life in reflections anymore."

Raven's eyes became a bit glassy as she looked back at him realizing he understood her more than she ever thought he could. "So I guess we're both living archetypes then."

"Nobody's perfect Rae, trust me. I try, to the point that's not even healthy. Hell, I've come to realize I should've probably been admitted right along with you."

They both laughed and Raven rolled her eyes playfully. "Yeah, I've been petitioning the team to have you committed for years now, but they won't listen to me. Probably because _I'm_ crazy." She smiled cynically as she got up to bid her friend goodbye. Robin, without even thinking, pulled the girl into a hug and said, "You're not crazy Rae, you're just human like the rest of us." He kissed her cheek and with little warning her eyes became dewy, but a smile pulled delicately at her lips.

"Thank you."

Robin left her after that, though he was reluctant to for some reason. Still, she seemed better than she'd been in previous days, so this gave him something he hadn't felt in weeks, _hope._ Walking into the lobby he stepped into the elevator and rode it down to the ground level. Once there, the door slid open and he stepped out while sending a message to Cyborg about picking up dinner, when he heard a deep, familiar voice.

"Hello, I'm here to see Dr. Quinzel, she's expecting me." Robin stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes fell on the man who only stood about ten feet away.

"Oh God." He sighed causing the man to stop talking and look over in his direction.

He cursed under his breath at the sight of the young man who stood before him dumbfounded. The two men just stared at each other for a long moment without even a single word. The tension was so extreme that even Marge muttered a "well this is awkward."

Finally Robin pulled his nerve together enough to address the man, but he could hardly control his tone, "So you came to town without even telling me?"

"Dick, can we talk about this another time?" Bruce said trying to manage the situation.

"When? Never? Because that's what works for you" he scuffed.

"Dick, this really isn't the time or place"

Robins eye's caught fire as he replied, "The hell it isn't Bruce, I'm not just gonna let you dismiss me, I'm not kid anymore. You owe me that respect."

Bruce let his eyes widen at the remark the young man made, nearly flinching at his tone. "You're right, I do owe you that and an explanation, and I'll give you one, but not right in this minute."

"Why the hell not? What are you even doing here?" Robin asked in frustration.

"I have a date." Bruce replied in a flat tone.

Robin laughed pitching the bridge of his nose, "Only Bruce Wayne would be crazy enough to pick up a woman in a mental hospital."

"And what's wrong with that?" Robin looked over to see Dr. Quinzel walking out into the lobby and approach Bruce. "I like my men a little on the crazy side."

Robin's face fell in shock as she placed her hand on the man's shoulder. "Please don't tell me that's your date?" Robin said, not even think of how rude his question sounded.

Bruce remained silent for a moment unsure of what to say or why Robin was so put off that he was taking the doctor out for a drink.

"Wow, this is actually more entertaining than _Downtown Abbey_." The woman at the front desk said, as she was apparently eavesdropping on the entire conversation, and she wasn't the only one. Both Robin and Bruce looked around, noticing that many eyes were cast in their direction.

"Shit." Robin muttered and began to walk away in a combination of frustration and embarrassment. Bruce quickly took off after him as he made his way to the door trying to hold back the urge to hit something. Once Bruce was gone, Marge turned to the young doctor and said in her brash tone, "Well, there goes my entertainment for the night, now what's up with you and unstable men?"

Outside Bruce caught up with the young hero before he could make his way down the steps. Robin turned to him, his disappointment clear in his eyes for more reasons than one. For all the years he wouldn't see him as his equal, and asked him to be something he wasn't. But more importantly, for all times he didn't understand _why._

"Richard, stop!" Bruce called as he was exiting the building.

"No, you don't want to listen to me so why should I listen to you?" He wouldn't even turn to face the man.

"Because this is different."

"Yes, it is, because I don't take orders from you anymore." Robin hissed patronizingly.

Bruce paused at the boy's tone. He'd never spoken to him in that way before, and to hear the young man he raised as his child actually standing up to him was a very sobering experience. "I didn't mean to offend you; I just didn't know what to say."

Robin finally faced his mentor though his eyes still burned with resentment. "Why did you come here?"

"Because you asked me to."

"I asked you to help Raven, not to show up unannounced without even calling first."

"I should have told you, I was just trying to figure out why you needed my help. You hadn't asked for it in a long time." His voice held something of raw emotion and it was something Robin had never heard from him before.

Still, he shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. He hadn't asked for Bruce's in years, his pride wouldn't allow it, but more importantly he hadn't needed it until now, but why?

"Richard, I'm sorry." Bruce said in a low voice.

He looked up at the him, "It's fine, I overreacted. This whole thing just took me by surprise I guess…"

"That's not what I meant Dick," Bruce's said and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you four years ago, I should have and I didn't. I failed you as a father."

"No Bruce, you didn't, you were a father when I needed one." Robin said softening his tone, surprised that Bruce had just apologized. "I didn't leave Gotham because you failed me; I left because I would have failed myself."

Bruce looked back at the young man with question, "I forgot how much you grew to hate Gotham."

"I don't hate Gotham Bruce, I just hated myself _in_ Gotham." The young man said with a heavy voice. "Gotham was _your_ city and _your_ mission, it was never mine. I'd never find myself there and I could never be _you_."

The Dark Knight pulled back in realization at the boy's words. "Is that what you think? That I was trying to make you become me?"

Robin looked up at him a little taken aback by the look in his eyes. "Isn't that what you wanted, someone to follow in your footsteps?" He said as his own realization began to sink in.

"In some ways yes, but I never wanted you to become me." The older man said in a fatherly tone. "That's why I took you under my wing, so you wouldn't become me, Richard."

Robin turned from him for a moment nearly unable to stand and sat down on the bench behind him and Bruce followed. "Then why did I always feel like you were?" Robin asked placing his head in his hands.

"Because I didn't want you to become weak or lose focus, I didn't want you to end up making the mistakes I did." Bruce placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Richard, under no circumstances did I ever want you to inherit my darkness, I know you have your own. If anything, I just wanted you to learn how to control it. I wanted you to be better than me."

Robin let out a deep sigh and shook his head, "I guess I really did fail you then?"

Bruce closed his eyes as the words cut through his resolve and a looked of sadness crept into his gaze, if only for a moment. "Dick you've never failed me, I couldn't be more proud of you. I wanted you to be a strong individual, and you are. Maybe you're not perfect, but you're not supposed to be. Sometimes our greatest weaknesses lead to our greatest triumphs. You and I are only human, but that's what makes it better, because we make mistakes and we learn from them."

Robin looked over at Bruce who was now being far more candid then he'd ever been. "So then why were you so angry when I left?"

"Because you were right, if you had stayed you would've become me." Bruce looked away as his ego bled with the truth. "I just didn't want to see it and I didn't want to lose my son."

Robin smiled and shook his head once more as he let out a small laugh, "What happened to us?" He questioned ironically and looked back at Bruce.

Bruce sighed, "I don't know, but don't get used to this sort of thing. I don't see it happening again in the near future."

"That's ok. Truth be told, you're kinda freaking me out."

Bruce shook his head and raised an eyebrow at the young man realizing how much he'd grown. Robin left Bruce's side when he was only fifteen years old and only stood about 5'4. Now he stood at 5'10 and had lost his boyish features, gaining more maturity in his eyes and facial expression. Bruce himself had aged a bit, but not much. He'd only met the boy when he was in his late twenties and the thought he was now on brink of forty made him feel more nostalgic in nature.

"Hello!" called a flamboyant voice from the hospital entrance. The two men turned to find Dr. Quinzel standing at the entrance about twenty feet away tapping her foot sternly.

Robin turned to Bruce with wide eyes, "You're not really going on a date with her?" he scuffed. "That's Raven old doctor?"

Bruce signaled to the woman to wait a moment while he finished his conversation, "I'm aware of that. Did Raven ever say anything about her that I should be aware of?"

"Only that she thought she was crazy and she referred to her as _The_ _Leech._ " Robin replied in low voice. "This is strictly business, isn't it?"

"For the most part, I'll explain more later. But I should probably get to the good doctor before she bleeds me dry."

Later that evening, after Bruce bid his young prodigy goodbye, he and Dr. Quinzel set out to a local bar in the more up and coming part of town. On their way there the two made small talk, but it was mostly the young doctor who led the conversation. Speaking of her big dreams of becoming a well known psychiatrist and how she was working on writing a book. Bruce of course found this interesting, but not out of genuine intrigue. He was more interested in her motives and how far she'd actually go to see her dream meet fruition.

His background check on her had come up clean. The only thing he really knew about her was that she'd gotten a gymnastic scholarship to attend Gotham State University and that she had graduated with her Bachelor's degree. It was after that that she was accepted to Jump City University to attend the school's psychiatry program and completed her residency at the hospital she was currently working at. For the most part he couldn't find anything alarming, but after speaking with one of her former professors, it was suggested she'd not earned her degree by _studying._

Once at the bar, the two took their seats, with Bruce being the proper gentleman and assisting the pretty blond to mount the bar stool. As he was taking his seat the bartender came over and asked for their drink orders. Bruce ordered a Bourbon for himself and asked Dr. Quinzel what her poison would be.

"Martini please, filthy." She smiled and looked over at Bruce.

"Well it's a good thing you're not driving." He said raising an eyebrow.

The young doctor giggled and insisted she could handle her liquor. Once the drinks were ready Bruce made a toast, accepting her challenge, and ordered a couple of shots. Bruce of course took a false sip of his drink as he refrained from drinking alcohol. Usually he'd just pretend to take a call and simply replace the liquid with ice teen or even ginger ale. However, every once in a while he'd humor his acquaintances by doing a shot, but only to keep up his facade as a borderline alcoholic.

"So how do you know that kid you were talking to?" Dr. Quinzel asked taking a sip of her drink.

"He's my son." Bruce replied in dull tone trying not fall into his alter ego.

The young doctor raised an eye brow, "I didn't know you had children. Next thing you're gonna tell me ya married!"

Bruce laughed and knocked back his drink, "No, I'm a lifelong bachelor. I took over wardship of Dick after his parents died; I adopted him when he was about thirteen." Bruce said letting a little arrogance into his voice.

"So you're a single dad," she replied. "What was he so upset about?"

"Just old history is all, but I think we put it behind us." Bruce looked away avoiding eye contact with her, not that he ever really made eye contact with many, but there was something about her he didn't quite trust. "So speaking of history, it sounds like you and Dr. Graves have some yourself?" Bruce added changing the subject.

Her eyes narrowed, "Oh yeah, Adam and I went to med school together."

"Ah, so I take it you two graduated in the same class?"

"No, he dropped out of the program to go to rehab."

Bruce nearly choked on his drink as the words left her lips, but what shocked him was how emotionless she sounded as she spoke. _"Rehab?"_

"Yeah, he was a junky." She shrugged. "From what I know he was in and outa trouble all through junior high and high school, but he cleaned up his act long enough to make it into med school. He relapsed about half way through and dropped out. He switched majors after he got clean again."

"Well everyone one has a past. He must be well into recovery by now," Bruce paused and cleared his throat. "From what I've heard he's a good doctor?"

"Yeah, that's what he wants everyone to think, but in my experience, once a junky always a junky."

"That's awfully crass of you."

"Hey, I spent a year of my life with that boy, I can be as crass as I want." She asserted stirring her martini. "Why do you even want know about all this anyway?"

Bruce looked at the young woman realizing that whatever the two doctors had went much deeper than simple competition. The hatred they shared for each other was spawned out of love and regret, and Bruce knew sometimes that _hate_ could be the purest.

"He's treating a friend of the family." Bruce stated taking his glass in his hand. "I'm just making sure they're in good hands."

The young woman cracked a smile, "They'd be in _much better hands_ if they were under _my_ treatment."

"Is that so?" Bruce placed his glass down, "But at the end of the day it isn't up to me, but I'll let my friend know." He was clearly lying. He knew how Raven felt about the young doctor and the fact she was willing to throw Dr. Graves that far under the bus didn't sit right with him. Though it did raise some rather valid concerns, but those he'd deal with another time.

The bartender finally brought them the shots they'd ordered, both glasses possessing dark, rich looking liquid that smelled of peppermint.

"So what is this I'm about to drink?" The doctor asked in a flirtatious tone.

Bruce released a sly smile and laughed, "It's called a _Screaming Nazi._ "

The young woman giggled and picked up the small glass. "Why do they call it that?"

Bruce took the glass in his hand and raised it to hers and said in his notoriously charming voice, "Try it and find out."

The three Titans were sitting in the main room waiting for Robin to return with dinner. Normally Cyborg and Beast Boy would be heavily enthralled in one of their mundane video games while Starfire watched in amazement. But instead they were all silently watching an old movie. It had been nearly two weeks since their lives had been thrown completely upside down and deep down none of them really knew what to think. In some way they all felt guilty, like maybe they ignored her or just didn't say the right thing at the right time. But what really kept their tongues tied was the fact that now they didn't know what to say.

"Hey Vic?" Beast Boy asked the mechanical man.

He turned his attention away from the screen and acknowledged the green boy beside him. "Yes Gar?"

"What do you think it's gonna be like when Raven comes home?"

Both Starfire and the robotic man looked at the boy with the same facial expressions, one of uncertainty. None of the Titans had even seen her, except Robin and he wasn't telling them much. Still, it was a question they'd all been asking themselves and the truth was they slightly feared her return.

"I don't know BB, that's something we won't know till it happens." The robotic man responded rubbing his neck. "And as far I know she won't be back for at least another week or so."

"Can I tell you guys something?" Beast boy asked in a shy manner. The two nodded and gave him their undivided attention. "I'm really afraid to see Raven, what if she's… different?"

Cyborg looked away for a moment and took in what the young Titan said. He too was afraid of seeing her and he knew how painful that was to admit, but it didn't mean he was ready to give up on her. "Well, I suppose she will be different, but hopefully for the best." Cyborg said looking back at the boy. "The road ahead isn't gonna be easy, but if we all stick together as a team and as a _family_ , we'll get through it."

"Friend Victor is right, we must stay strong not just for Raven, but for ourselves as well." Starfire added in her soft demeanor.

Beast Boy took a long breath and exhaled, "I just feel like maybe there was something that I could've done to prevent this."

"We all feel like that Gar, but to be honest, I don't think there was anything anyone could've done. Sometimes people just lose their way, but it's up to us to help Raven find her way back." Cyborg leaned back on the couch as the changeling looked out the window and dazed off for a moment until they heard Robin make his way in.

"Hey guys, food's here." He called, placing the bag of take-out on the table.

"Good, cause I'm starving." Cyborg said as he rose from the sofa.

Starfire followed behind him and asked, "How is friend Raven?"

Robin sat down at the table and ran his fingers through his hair, "She's actually doing better, I think she's finally starting to come around. " He replied with a tired smile.

"Yeah, you were gone all afternoon, I was kinda worried," The mechanical man said taking a box of rice from the bag. "But it sounds like things are looking up?"

"For the most part. She's still coming to terms with everything, but she's beginning to look at things differently now." Robin looked around and noticed Gar was still sitting on the couch staring out the window. "What's up with him?"

"Oh he's just feeling a little lost that's all, he's just afraid, like the rest of us." The mechanical man replied. "So what took you so long?"

"Well I stayed till visiting hours ended and well…" Robin looked over at Cyborg and muttered, "I ran into Bruce."

Both Starfire and Cyborg stopped what they were doing as Beast Boy turned to Robin's direction and said, "You didn't tell us that Batman was coming to town!"

Robin placed his hands on his forehead and sighed, "That's the problem Gar, he didn't tell me either," he replied a little dejected.

Beast Boy smiled sheepishly and moved to the table with the others, "Sorry about that, I guess I thought he woulda given you a heads up."

"That makes two us."

The rest of the Titans looked at one another, noticing the sheer annoyance the young man held on his face.

"So what happened, why is he even here?" Cyborg asked cautiously.

Robin explained how he'd written a letter requesting his help and how Bruce went to see Raven earlier that day. He also told them about their run-in in Gotham and how he'd been coming to terms with their tarnished relationship.

"So you actually fought in the lobby of the hospital?" Gar shouted, finding his humor again.

Robin shook his head and furrowed his brow, "No, we had an argument, but yes that happened in the lobby, so there was an audience present."

He continued to tell the team about his discussion with Bruce and how, as much as it angered him, it was probably for the best. If Bruce hadn't shown up out of the blue, the men probably would've never had the interaction that spawned from it. For the first time in ten years they'd actually had an in-depth conversation about their relationship and discussed why it was fractured. It was almost as if fate had brought them together to mend the cracks.

"So are you and The Batman no longer doing the arguing?" Starfire asked her leader in a hopeful voice.

"No Kory, I think we've moved past our history and are ready to put it behind us."

Starfire's eyes lit up, "Oh that is most glorious to hear!" She shouted in an up lifting voice.

Robin smiled and she sat down with the rest of the group as they began to eat.

He looked at his teammates as they went about their business and carried on their conversation. He was grateful for them, they were in all right his family and that's what made her absence so hard on them. As much as she pulled away or tried to keep herself hidden, she was still a part of their very loud, very dysfunctional and very unusual family. He knew she loved them just as much as they loved her, but he worried that at times she possibly thought they didn't.

Still he looked on at the empty chair across from him, feeling her absence. He missed her reactions to Beast Boy's poorly composed jokes, and the why she'd roll her eyes at annoying personal habits. He'd become accustomed to these little traits they were a part of who she was and without her their family was incomplete. These thoughts began to tug at their bond, but in a different way. It was something he'd never quite acknowledge before, and it was something almost _taboo_ to him _._ There was a longing for her presence and a heaviness at the thought of her unknown return.

The last few weeks had been difficult on all of them. He knew the team felt lost, waiting to see how the tragedy played out, hoping the ending was written by a kind hand. Robin himself felt the same, though it seemed now the ending was possibly being rewritten. Robin now saw beyond not only Raven's reflection, but also his own. The world was becoming a different place and the mirror above was being to crack. But for some reason he thought it was for the best. He now felt he was more than just a shadow and he wanted Raven to feel the same. She'd spent her entire life existing, but never truly living. She was bound by reflections and the same old poem, never seeing the world for what it truly had to offer. She lived the same verses and sang the same song. Her life was a continuing cycle, one she'd been forced to live with the threat of her very life coming to end if she dared look away from the reflections that bounded her.

Robin frowned at the thought, realizing that much like the _Lady of Shalott_ Raven had a curse put upon her at birth. That curse being her highly in tuned empathy. She could feel the strong emotions of others, their happiness, their pain, their love, she could feel everything that made life worth living, but she could never experience it for herself.

Robin thought about the frustration she must have felt over the years, to see the world through dulled senses and muted emotions. Yet she always seemed to keep fighting and pushed ahead. Raven always dared to be something more; she dared to be a hero. This led him to believe that she could overcome this and become stronger for everything in the end. He recalled a time when he found himself caught between his own shadows. Constantly haunted by the darker parts of his mind and forced to relive the fears that bound him within his own mirror. Raven was the one who freed him, curing him of his delusions and breaking the cycle that was bound to destroy him. Now all he wanted was to cure hers so she could see the world through her own eyes and no longer through reflections.


	17. When There's Nothing Left To Lose

**Journal Entry # 7: When There's Nothing Left To Lose:**

Today I was told that winning doesn't make us who we are, it's losing. Our victories may give us confidence, but at the end of the day we gain more from our losses than we do our triumphs. I remember Richard once telling me that Bruce used to say: "It's not how we fall, it's how we get back up that defines us." I don't doubt this is true, in fact I know it is, but what happens if you don't want to get back up?

Today I was reminded why I didn't. I came face to face with everything I'd been running from, the very darkness that haunts me, and I could do nothing but look it in the eye and see it for what it was. I honestly thought I'd choke on it, the truth too bitter in taste and its hold over me nearly too strong to overcome. I had to confront my failures and who they've made me. But more importantly, I had to ask myself who I'd become because of them and how I'd face them in the future. And honestly I'm still not quite sure of the answer.

This all started after I was taken to the medical ward to meet with Dr. Graves. I was once again escorted there by Joseph, the very kind orderly who typically does so, which I find comforting. He is one of the few familiar faces I look forward to seeing. Mostly because he never asks me the difficult questions I'm afraid to answer. Our conversations are usually light and comfortable. Joseph usually tells me stories of his teenage daughters and sometimes asks for my advice on how to talk to them. This I find funny (and not because I'm admitted to a psych ward) it's funny because I'm the worst excuse for an archetypal teenage girl. Seriously, I hate shopping and anything to do with malls, I loathe all things even remotely girly or pink. I hate romantic movies (mostly because they never portray it like it really is) and if I even hear a pop song I have to suppress the urge to break the radio. Still, from what I understand, Joseph's eldest daughter isn't really into those things, which is why he asks. From what he says she's into writing poetry and reading voluminous books, being quite the bibliophile. She also loves music and listens to artists like _Black Tape For A Blue girl_ and _One Eyed Doll_ , so she seems to be cut from my cloth. However, I hope she's missing the darker threads that piece together a more tragic existence, for Joseph's sake. His youngest daughter however, seems to be the one he's more concerned about. From what I understand they have a very strained relationship and she tends to shut him out a lot. I can feel how this hurts him, it's clear by the way he speaks of his girls, that he loves them more than anything and I can't even tell you what I wouldn't give to have that.

As I sat alone in the waiting area I let my eyes drift off to the left and down the hall. I'd never been down that particular hallway before and for some reason I never really paid much attention it. My eyes gravitated to a sign that sat above the double doors listing the different procedures and functions the wing served. My gaze slowly drifted down, reading words like _observation, examinatio_ n, and _Electro Convulsive Therapy._ My breath tightened at the configuration of words and I winced at the thought, looking away with rejection.

Turning my head to the right I looked up to find possibly my worst nightmare standing over me. _Oh god, she found me,_ I thought silently narrating my defeat.

"Hey there my little Bird, long time no see." Dr. Quinzel said in her flamboyant tone.

I gazed up at her puzzled, as if my mind was silently self-destructing behind my blank expression.

She sat down beside me and smiled viciously as she began to speak again. "What's a matta Raven, cat gotcha tongue?"

"More like a leech." I replied in swift retaliation.

I'd always thought of the young doctor as more of a parasite than a medical professional, and I used to refer to our sessions as my weekly "leeching." Though in all respects, I honestly think an actual leeching would have been more beneficial.

"Oh, now that's an interesting analogy, care to elaborate doll?" She asked combing her fingers through my hair.

I cringed at her touch and flinched as her thin fingers began to take hold of my violet locks. "I would, but I fear I've already been bled to the point of death."

"That's awfully cynical of you, and here I though goths were supposed to be more apathetic?"

"That's an awfully big word for someone whose intellect is only rivaled by her ego." I said with a sarcastic look on my face. "But then again your superego has always been a few leeches short of a leech jar now, hasn't it?" Dr. Quinzel laughed uncomfortably at my insult realizing I'd just called her an egotistical half-wit with little morality to balance out her personality. "And by the way I would say I'm more nihilistic in nature, but I'm still very apathetic because I really don't care what you think you of me."

She smiled and leaned back in her chair and started stroking my hair again, her smile becoming a little more unsettling. "You should care what I think," she said taking hold of my hair in a forceful manner, "I may not be your doctor, but my word is still more valuable than yours. And if I feel you're a danger to yourself, or others, then I can bring that up with your doctor and arrange a more _prolonged_ stay."

Her grip grew tighter as her fingers became woven in my hair. I could feel my anger at her boil in my blood and the look on her face threatened to set off my already short fuse. But in the back of my mind I knew that was what _she_ wanted. For me to lose it, so she could deem me unfit and prove my madness for everyone to see. And the frightening truth was even though she'd provoked me, no one would believe me, because at the end of the day she's the doctor, and I'm just a crazy little girl.

"What is going on here," I heard Dr. Graves say and looked up to find him standing behind Dr. Quinzel who quickly released my hair from her grip.

"Adam doll, how's it goin'?" She said changing her tone to a false sweetness that was nearly sickening.

He crossed his arms in an unamused fashion, looking down with disapproval as though he were nothing more than a disappointed father. "Harley, what are you even doing down here and why are you talking to _my_ patient?"

"Me and Raven were just catch'n up is all, no harm no foul." She said in a nonchalant fashion. "Plus I was just lettin' her know I'm here if she needs me. The offer also extends to you if you need my assistance."

Dr. Graves glanced over at me though I remained silent, but rolled my eyes at her in disgust. He didn't say anything, but I could tell he understood our feelings towards each other were not mutual, and knew better than to question me with her present.

"Okay, well there is one thing I actually need from you." Dr. Graves said with a smile.

"And what would that be?"

He shrugged wittily, "Your absence. I have to treat my patient now and I'm sure you have your _own_ to attend to."

It's official, I love my doctor! (In a very platonic way.) I actually had to fight the urge to laugh after seeing the cocky look wiped off Dr. Quinzel's face. It was priceless.

"Well, I guess I'm the only person who can truly provide that." She said walking away, hiding her bitterness under false humor. "Oh, and I see you still have that nasty habit of grinding your teeth. But then again you never had a knack for self-control now did ya?"

Now I don't really know what that meant, but I could tell Dr. Graves did, and by the look on his face it was clearly an insult. I looked at them as they eyed each other awkwardly, a sense of loathe filling the air with a familiar chill. I myself felt a little uncomfortable and honestly, I'm pretty confident (no, scratch that) positive they hate each other more than is probably acceptable.

"So are you two gonna like… I don't know, fight to the death or something?" I said finally breaking my silence. Mostly because I was over watching their little pissing match, not that I had better things to do, but I was over it none the less.

Dr. Graves looked a little embarrassed that he'd let his distaste for the snarky blonde get the best of him, though I can't say I blame him. There is just something about that woman that can get right under your skin and no matter how much you scratch she'll never come out.

"Well it's been fun but, I gotta run." Dr. Quinzel said as she walked toward the elevator.

"Yes, run far, far away and hopefully never procreate." I said in a dull whisper.

Dr. Graves remained silent and just smiled as he shook his head. It was only when she was finally gone that he spoke. "Raven I'm so sorry she did that, I know you're not fond of her."

I sighed as I began to walk to the hallway where his office was located. "It's alright," I said though it clearly wasn't, "she's just another two faced person the world has to deal with, I can handle it." The only problem was I wasn't sure if I could. I'd endured a lot while seeing Dr. Quinzel and in a way I blame her for some of the failures I've fallen to. Now I know it's unfair of me to think that, but I actually made the mistake of trusting her once, and she failed me. The sad thing is I don't even think she intended for me to get hurt the way I did. But if she'd just reminded me that I deserved better or helped me see what I was doing, I could've saved myself from a broken heart and ego.

"Well if she says anything to you again or ever makes you feel uncomfortable, please let me know. I'll make sure she stays clear of you, alright?"

I smiled at my doctor's concern, but refrained from telling him the more delicate details of our meeting. Now this is for two reasons: one, I really didn't want the extra attention and still don't. Like I said earlier, it's my word against hers and last I checked (though I'm convinced she's missing a few marbles) Dr. Quinzel's a doctor and I'm here against my will because my judgment's unsound. I'm also well aware that though she at times teeters on stupid, Dr. Quinzel is actually quite clever, too clever. I know if given the opportunity she could easily twist my own words and use them to her advantage. She's smart, and I don't want to challenge her, not with my sanity on the line. Besides it's not like I'm ever alone around here, unless I'm waiting for Dr. Graves, but I have a feeling that's about to change. And second, I really don't need my sanity questioned any more than it already has been. I mean everyone already thinks I've lost my mind, hell, I'm even beginning to question my mental standing. This whole wide world's a judge, and I really don't want to be in the center of it.

Once we made it to his office he handed me a freshly prepared cup of tea and I sat down to begin _pouring my heart out._

"Okay, so I heard you got into quite the blow out last night with one of the other patients." Dr. Graves said, bringing up the incident from the previous night.

I sipped my tea and rolled my eyes, "Yeah I'd apologize, but I'm honestly not sorry."

"And why is that?"

"Because Rylie's an idiot." I replied not really caring whether he agreed with me or not. "Now's the part where you're gonna tell me that's unfair of me to say and that I need to apologize to her, right?"

"No." Dr. Graves replied nonchalantly. "I just want you to tell me why what she said bothered you."

"You're gonna _shrink_ me aren't you."

"Just answer the question."

I shook my head as I could tell he wasn't in any mood to take my shit today. Still, I wasn't really looking forward to having to fill him in on what transpired during dinner, but did so anyway.

"So it started at dinner as you are already aware of. I was sitting with Jack and Nora (who Jack refers to as the Hot Girl)," I said beginning my _riveting_ tail, "So for the most part things were fine until Rylie came to sit with us, which I wouldn't mind if she actually knew how to speak without sounding like an ignorant fool."

Now, for the most part, I'm very sympathetic to most of the people here. They all need help and some of them can't help the way they are, it's just how they're wired. However, I can't say the same for Rylie because she's the stereotypical, overly dramatic, entitled, spoiled brat that is wrong with our generation, and she's constantly complaining about how much her life sucks. I mean have you looked around?

"And how does she sound ignorant?" Dr. Graves asked with a blank expression.

"How does she not? That's the better question." I replied almost annoyed with the question.

"Give me an example."

I rolled my eyes and continued my story which consisted of the following. Like I'd written previously, I was sitting with Jack, the lovable Australian with a mouth, and Nora, a pretty ballerina who unfortunately suffers from an eating disorder and a clear sense of body dysmorphia. Now for the most part, the three of us get along pretty well. Nora and I talk about how screwed up our lives are while Jack tells us stories about his colorful exploits and unhealthy relationships.

" _She then says, that is no way to live your life, and that saddens me." Jack said as I looked down at the questionable meal in front of me. "So I responded with 'really because it feels like fun. I mean I just high fived someone a minute ago, I don't think I woulda done that if I was having a bad time now, would I?' And that's when the fight started."_

" _Dear god Jack, any woman who puts up with you is a saint." I said shaking my head at him._

" _Yeah, that or a fucking harpy. You gonna finish that Violet?"_

" _No, I have a policy, if I can't identify it then I refuse to consume it as a safety precaution." I replied pushing away my tray of grey meat and strangely colored vegetables. (Joseph's right, the food isn't very good here.)_

_It was then the antagonist known as Rylie, or as Jack likes to call her, "Princess", enters the scene and asks to sit with us. Now none of us can stand her, but we know what it's like to be left out, so we don't protest (at least not out loud). Now let me just say that what makes Rylie so unbearable is that her whole life is always a crisis. You're probably thinking "well so is yours," but I don't look for mine to be one, she does. Not only that, but everyone and their mother has to know about it because she must be the center of attention at all times._

_So as for me, I have little patience for this kind of behavior, and her constant sense of self-absorption is extremely exhausting to my empathy. Still, it's sad. She obviously has issues with keeping friends and has a lack of confidence, but if she'd spend less time acting like everybody hated her and more time listening to others, she'd probably have more friends._

_So of course she starts off about how her parents must hate her because they had her committed. The reason for this is because she threatened to kill herself, and from what I understand she's made a few questionable attempts in the past. So to be fair to her parents they probably just wanted to protect their daughter. (Oh, the humanity.) Still, she insists she only said that because they don't care about her and they don't understand her pain. I think you get the picture._

" _So your parents wanted you to stop seeing your boyfriend because he is 21 and you're only 16?" I asked trying to make sense of the soap opera that was her life._

" _Yes, how dare they! He is the only person who really loves me."_

" _How long have you two been dating?"_

" _Two months and 3 days."_

_I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes as I asked, "But I thought you said he cheated on you with that girl you hate?"_

" _He did, but he apologized and promised me he'd never do anything like that again."_

" _Sounds like everlasting love." I said nearly ready to throw myself down a flight of stairs because of how absurd she sounded. "Have you ever thought about the possibility that maybe you don't love him as much as you love the_ _ **idea**_ _of him?" I asked trying to push the little fool towards a less heartbreaking direction._

" _What's that supposed to mean?"_

" _Nothing. I'm only saying you're kind of young to know what love is and I'm just asking if it's_ _ **possible**_ _that maybe you only_ _ **think**_ _you are in love?"_

" _That's ridiculous; I'm not some stupid tart." (Wanna make a bet.) "I love Anthony and he loves me. You sound like my parents." (Good, your parents are right, grow up!)_

" _Well, has it ever occurred to you that maybe Anthony is just using you because you're young and impressionable? And that your parents actually love and want to protect you. I mean don't you find it kinda odd that a grown man wants to date a 16 year old girl?" I said a little patronizingly._

" _So you're saying that I'm not worth loving? How dare you!" She shouted in all her ignorance._

" _No, I said that your boyfriend is clearly using you, not only because he knows he can, but because you let him. That's why your parents don't like him and anyone who cheats on you clearly doesn't love you." I pointed out to her distaste. "He's just telling you what you wanna hear."_

" _Shut up Raven. Why don't you just mind your own business and stay out of mine." She crossed her arms and put on a ridiculous pout._

" _I'd love to, but unfortunately for me you don't come with a mute button."_

" _Oh my god, that was so bitchy of you, are you trying to make me trigger?!"_

And here we go…The rest was basically about how much of a bitch I am and how I couldn't began to understand her because she's a special snow flake and some bullshit. (Oh I'm sorry, my mistake, I'll adjust the material accordingly…)

This is about where Dr. Graves stopped me and began asking me questions. "So what is it about her that bothers you?"

"You want a list?" I asked sarcastically, "She's just a little brat. She wants everybody to feel sorry for her, she's so obnoxious."

"Ok I get that, but I get the feeling you were trying to help her, why?" he asked.

"Because that's what I do."

Dr. Graves just rolled his eyes and cocked his head to the side as though silently saying 'give me the real answer'.

"Okay, it's because I could see that this boy was clearly praying off her because she's lonely, depressed, and naïve. All that makes her the prefect target for someone like that."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I was that girl, not once, but twice." I replied a little defeated. "Rylie actually had the nerve to ask me if what made me such an expert on love was that I'd actually been in love."

"What was your answer?"

"I said _no,_ what made me an export was that I _thought_ _I was_." I looked down at my hands with bitter regret. They'd failed me so many times, but it seemed my heart could also inflict just as much damage as they were capable of. "What she doesn't realize is that she's setting herself up to fail and because of that she's letting that boy take away her sense of dignity. It's that behavior that makes her value herself less and therefore she's going to go through life thinking it's alright for people to use and destroy her. She's letting the world kill her and isn't doing a damn thing to stop it."

"So you were only trying to spare her the pain you've experienced, hoping that maybe she'd become less dependent on the wrong male figures in her life?" Dr. Graves asked with a questioning look.

"Yes, basically. The first time I suffered a broken heart I swore I'd never let another man use me like that again, but low and behold I let another one swoop right in and let me think he loved me."

"Are sure they didn't?"

"If someone loves you then they aren't _cruel only to be kind_." I said in a cynical tone.

Dr. Graves didn't say anything for a moment as I took a long sip of my tea to avoid eye contact with him. It was clear he could see the remnants of the pain that lingered within me, as it resurfaced for his sight. Still, it was clear he had other questions on his mind.

"Raven, is it safe to say that the heartbreak you feel reminds you of your father?"

"Remember that little clause that clearly states that we don't speak of my father?" I questioned, "Plus I don't believe in Freud's theory."

Dr. Graves rolled his eyes at me in annoyance, "That's not what I meant. I was implying that the prominent male figure in your life is not only absent, but he has also left you with a significant heartbreak. Now my question is, does that not only affect your relationships, but when men hurt you does it conjure up those feelings toward you father?"

I take it back, I hate my doctor. He always manages to find some way to pull my more deep seeded secrets up from the ground they've been buried beneath with little regard for how hard I try to forget them. "Maybe?" I said trying to brush off the question.

He only looked at me and shook his head. "Raven, you really need to address whatever issues you have with your father. The fact you won't even mention him just shows that he plays a big part in of your life and has a direct link to your condition."

If only he knew. Unfortunately for me he's right. My father has everything to do with my condition, but how do I explain that I'm the spawn of Satan without having myself committed for life? Furthermore, I'm still getting used to this whole letting people in nonsense and it's not as easy as one may think.

"Well I'm not really ready to discuss that yet, and don't think I ever will be?" I said in a very _whatever_ kind oftone.

Dr. Graves shrugged and ground his teeth, making me think of what Dr. Quinzel had said earlier and realized it was true. He did grind his teeth every now and then, especially when he got frustrated. "Ok, so you're not ready to talk about your father, then I have the answer I was looking for."

"And what answer is that?" I asked patronizingly.

"That you're not ready to be transferred to the open ward."

He watched as my eyes grew large and my face fell in defeat. "What? Why?"

"Cause you're clearly not ready." He said simply as he closed my file.

"But, I can't, no… I need… no!" I bantered placing my head in my hands. I felt as though I was so close to my goal that I could taste it, and then suddenly it was taken away from me. "But why? Because I won't tell you about my daddy issues?"

"No." He said furrowing his brow. "I'm not signing your transfer because you're just not ready yet."

"But I am ready, I'll be ready, I'll tell you anything you want." I pleaded desperately, trying to make him see that I wanted to move forward. Trouble was, I really wasn't ready.

"Raven, stop. You are not ready, that's what it comes down to."

"But why? What makes you so sure I'm not?" I yelled on the verge of tears. (Ironically enough, sounding like Rylie.)

"Because it's my job to know the character of the human psyche." He assured as though he were almost insulted. "You think I don't understand you Raven, but in reality I actually do, more than you'll ever know. I know your cynicism, your need to stay isolated, hell, I even know that unmistakable feeling of giving up and I know _why_ that hurts." He paused for a moment, catching himself and gathering his self-control. "I understand you better than you know, and I know how hard it is to trust people, I get that, but you need to learn to trust me so I can teach how to save yourself. I can't do it for you."

I sat back and crossed my arms. I knew he was right, I needed to learn to trust him, but how could I when I didn't even understand him. It's clear he understands me, it's actually unsettling how much so, but I don't even know the first thing about him. But still, those words replayed in my head, _"So I can teach you to save yourself."_ I actually couldn't help but roll my eyes because that was something I actually wanted Dr. Quinzel to do. Teach me how to save myself from _myself_. That's why I lost confidence in her, she had none in me. She only saw me as another referral she could possibly make money off of. To be honest I don't think she knew how to help me because she was too interested in helping herself.

"What do I need to do to show you that I'm ready?" I pleaded.

Dr. Graves let out a deep sigh and leaned back, "Ok, one, you need to trust me, two you have to start facing the things that are holding you back. I'm not saying you have to face anything you're not ready to, but you need to start thinking about it. And third, and most importantly, you need to stop treating your life like a bargaining chip."

I remained silent and stunned by his words, and though I'd never actually thought about it that way, he was right. I was and have always treated my life like a bargaining chip.

"It's how I get through life, just constantly making deals with myself that if I get through a certain time period or set of events, and I still want to die, then I'll do it. But I don't do it because I want to die. In reality I'm only looking for a reason to live… some reminder that my life _matters_." I said suddenly letting go of my reservations.

In the past this method has surprisingly worked (though I am not by any means recommending it) but it has gotten me through some of the more difficult parts of my life. I blame it on my upbringing. As a little girl I was told I'd die young and that I had no say in the matter. As a result I grew accustom to seeing my life as little more than a bargaining chip because in the end I was simply going to die anyway. But all that changed when I could no longer ask myself _what is the point._

"You see Dr. Graves I don't think people realize there's a difference between asking the question and actually deciding to do it. When you contemplate suicide you are looking for a reason _to be_. Therefore you're still looking for a reason to come off the edge. But when you decide not to be anymore it's no longer a question of if, but how and when. You feel like there's nothing left to live for because there's no point. You're just looking over the edge waiting for the right moment to fall. It's as simple as letting go."

Dr. Graves smiled mildly and let his eyes fall so they wouldn't meet mine. "I know there's a difference, but sometimes even asking the question can be dangerous, though we all do it. I'm afraid if I transfer you, you'll once again find a reason to fall and I'm not willing to take the chance that you won't" He said in a low graveled voice. I could tell not only by his words, but also by his tone that he genuinely cared about my well-being. He wanted me to succeed, and not just because he was my doctor, it was because he thought my life mattered.

Still I found myself struggling to let my guard down. There are so many parts of me that I've never let anyone else see. I myself don't even want to look upon them and the idea of having someone see those parts of me is frightening. I know I have to face my demons, but the truth is if I face them then they become real. It's easier to pretend they don't exist and it's easier to say that the voices aren't there, but they are.

When I was younger I used to talk to them and as I got older I begged them to stop, I begged them to leave and they didn't. Even now as I write this passage they're laughing at me, snickering at my inner fears and making it clear they're a part of me and always will be. How do you overcome something that you can't defeat? How do tell someone you hear things that aren't even there? How do you tell someone about all the things you do to yourself in hopes to make it all stop, in hopes to remind yourself you're still alive?

It's all so perplexing; I don't know where to start. I don't know what to say or if I should truly trust him. My boundaries have been my only protection from the world and its judgments. For years my persecution only rested in my own doing and fear of what others might think of me. Do I bear my scars or keep them hidden from the eyes of others like I've done in the past years? Do I confess the secrets I locked away so no one would hear them? What do I do if I don't?

Do I keep hiding from the light so it doesn't catch me? Do I bleed alone in the darkness until I have not a drop of life in me left to breathe? Do I bite my tongue and never speak the words of my voices and the secrets that they hold? Can I even live like that? That's how I've lived for years and look where it's gotten me. And to be fair, I can't call what I've been living at all. I've only been a ghost among the living, simply existing, haunting those I love because I don't know how to live. Well, maybe it's time I learn.

I sat back and looked at Dr. Graves. I tried to put aside my residing anger at his decision and tried to understand it. But in all honestly I found this difficult to do because I wanted nothing more than to be transferred. I wanted to move forward and I still do, but it appeared I wasn't moving fast enough for him to trust that I wouldn't turn back.

You see, I may not trust him, but he doesn't trust me as either. He can read me like a book and my story supports his theory. That if put in the right set of circumstances I'd relapse and do what I do best, drown. He's right; I'm not ready to swim. If thrown in the ocean I'd sink and I'd put little effort into saving myself, I'm not going to pretend I would, I know myself to well to lie about that.

"I do want to get better Dr. Graves, I really do, but I've just come to that decision and it's fairly new to me." I said wanting him to see that I did really want it. "I'm not used to facing these things; they're hard for me to accept. I don't really know where to start?"

His eyes filled with relief, as though he thought I had a break through. "You start by admitting that it scares you." He smiled. "You have to learn to deal with life differently, and that is scary, but you need to know it's alright to admit it Raven."

"I'm afraid I'm going to fail again, that I can't overcome who I am and I'll never learn to live." I said trying really hard not to cry, but hardly succeeding.

"Raven, failure isn't the end and it's not what destroys us, it's what makes us who we are." Dr. Graves said trying to lift my spirits. "Our failures help us improve ourselves, it's learning to overcome them that makes us strong. "

"You sound like you know from experience?"

"I do." He said looking away. "Some of my biggest failures have nearly ruined my life, but they've made me who I am today. Yes, I have my regrets, but I've gained wisdom from those regrets. And if that wisdom helps me guide someone away from the ledge then it makes all those failures worth it." He paused and looked back at me and though I was moved by his words I still found myself hesitant to trust them.

"What if I have nothing left?" I asked, thinking of all I've lost in my life.

"That's the thing Raven, you have nothing left to lose, which means you have everything to gain."

"So for me to do this I have to be honest with not just you, but myself?"

"Yes, if you can be honest with yourself then you'll find the answers you're looking for." He smiled, knowing he'd finally gotten through to me.

I wiped a few stray tears from my eyes and rested my elbows on my knees. "So does this mean you'll transfer me to the open ward?" I asked with a devilish grin.

"No, you still have a few things to prove before I sign those papers, but nice try though." He said falling back into his stern expression.

I rolled my eyes in a sarcastic manner, accepting my defeat, "I thought it was worth a shot. Like you said, I have nothing to lose."


	18. But Never Doubt I Lie: Part 1

**Part 1 of Journal Entry #8:** **Misery Loves Company**

After my discussion with Dr. Graves I began to think about my own relationships and how they have affected me in the long run. I honestly think part of the reason I’m not fond of Riley is because she reminds me of myself in some ways. (Some being the keyword.) Still, as l look back at my past relationships I can’t help but feel defeated. Not because I so desperately wanted someone to love me, but because I trusted those men with my heart and all they ever did was break it.

In my life, I thought I was in love not once, but twice. I placed my trust in two very different men, but I now know they were more parallel than I once believed. Now I know neither of them ever put a razor in my hand or forced me to take all my sleeping pills, but they did dent my already damaged ego, and if anything helped solidify my undoing. They didn’t care enough to see the cracks becoming deeper, and in essences that’s probably what attracted them to me in the first place. Because even though I cared a great deal for them, they still never loved me or even cared enough to spare me the pain of their deception. I’m not looking to place blame in them for my current situation, but without them I’m not entirely sure I’d be standing here.

The first man I fell for went by the name of Malchior, who I later found out wasn’t even a man at all. So calling him such a thing is actually a falsehood, much like the deception he weaved to gain my trust. He entered my life at a time where I was extremely vulnerableand naïve. I hadn’t been with the Titans very long and I was extremely lonely, feeling as though none of them understood me.

That all changed the day I met Malchior, for the first time in my entire life, I felt like I wasn’t alone. All the dark thoughts I had about my future subsided, because I can say with full honesty that I was _happy_. For the first time I felt like I mattered to someone and I could conquer the world because of it. But as easily as he gave it to me he took it away.

I found the truth buried deep beneath the lie and only a breath of it was true. He told he’d been waiting for me for ages, and he meant that, but only because he was waiting for someone naïve enough to free him, and I was just that. Naïve.

This was the first time I had ever felt for someone enough to have my heart broken, let alone just feel for someone at all. I felt like a fool and humiliated because the person I cared for didn’t even respect me. I felt like my heart was bleeding to the point I would die. The thought that the man I not only gave my heart to, but trusted the most, used me and my emotions for their own sick agenda dejected me. But the worst part was I feared my capability of caring for someone that deeply was lost forever. That I’d never have the opportunity to feel those things ever again, and that drove my hatred for him even deeper.

Never had I known that love could spark such a horrid emotion, but I learned quite quickly it could, (and with a vengeance too). Malchior introduced me to emotions I thought I’d never feel or even knew I was capable of, and he showed me just how bad _I_ could hurt. This only made his betrayal even more significant because I now knew how it felt to be broken, and I knew what it meant to care.

For years I avoided trusting people and kept myself locked away to the point I hardly even trust my teammates. The trust I did place in them was limited to a superficial level. I still didn’t tell them of my past or who I was, and I wouldn’t until later. Any light Malchior showed me was gone, burning out just as quickly as it was lit. I felt even more alone than I ever had in years. It was only after my father’s defeat that I truly allowed myself to see how much my friends cared for me. But even then I still had my demons and I thought deep down that I’d never feel the warmth of such deep emotion again. Until I met Eric Forrester.

Now let me first say that I honestly didn’t see him coming, mostly because I honestly didn’t think I could actually fall for someone like him. Well sadly, I was wrong; I guess I’m not as smart as I think I am. Nevertheless I still fell for his act, making him the perfect Hamlet to my Ophelia.

So you’re probably asking ‘well, how did you meet this unfortunate fellow and what made him so awful?’ Well I guess I’ll start from the beginning.

I actually met him the same day I met Dr. Quinzel (I guess shitty people always come in pairs). I was walking out if the hospital and not particularly paying attention. I was too busy looking down at the slip of paper in my hand to notice I was about to collide with my misfortune. I remember being taken off guard and losing my balance. I fell backwards and hit the ground, letting go of my prescription. I looked up with a scowl on my face, clearly annoyed and highly agitated. Looking down at me were a pair of grey eyes that belonged to an attractive young man who appeared to be a bit older than me.

“Hey gorgeous, are you alright? That was quite a fall you took?” He smiled and offered me his hand, which I didn’t accept.

“I’ve taken much harder hits, I’ll live.” I replied dusting myself off.

As I was doing so he approached me again, “I think you dropped this?”

I looked up to see the slip of paper in his hand and retrieved it from him quickly.

“Hey relax I didn’t read it, besides it’s just a prescription, it’s not the end of the world.” He said in a causal manner, running his fingers through his dark hair.

I didn’t reply; I didn’t feel like I had to defend my actions, or explain how to me it was the end of the world, or at least felt like it. I began to walk past him without a word, hardly acknowledging his presence.

“Hey, wait. I wasn’t done talking to you.” He said as though he were offended and took hold of my arm somewhat forcefully.

I whipped my head around and with a low growl told him to take his hand off me. He did as I requested and let a sly grin stretch across his face. “I swear to God if you ever touch me again you’ll be lucky if you’re still breathing, got that?” I hissed. “And what the hell is so funny?”

“Nothing, you’re kinda cute when you’re angry.” He replied as though he found my threat less than serious. “Plus I just wanted to talk to you and well, you are talking to me.”

I let out a loud sigh, only moments away from strangling him. “Ok I’m going to go now because if I don’t I’m going to  _fucking_  murder you.”

“Well at least I’d die happy.”

“You’re sick, you know that?”

“Yeah that’s why I’m going to therapy beautiful, and by the looks of it, you’re just as _sick_ as I am.”

At this point I wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face, but I figured that would only prove his point and I couldn’t have that. “You know nothing about me.” I spat.

“Not yet.” He shot back as I began to walk away. “Hey wait what’s your name?”

“I’m not  _interested_.” I called back trying to rid myself of him.

“I never said I was.” He replied as though trying to stay one step ahead of me. I shook my head and rolled my eyes not even looking back at him when I heard him call, “Oh, and just in case you were wondering gorgeous, I’m Eric.”

I stopped at his self-absorbed tone and cracked a smile, “I’m  _still_  not _interested_.” And with that I walked off before he could try to engage me any further. It was bad enough I’d let myself stoop to his level as much as I had, but I wasn’t about to sink any further.

Now you’re probably thinking after an encounter like that there’d be no possible way I’d ever give him a second look. And well for the most part you’d be right. For about two months I’d run into Eric like clockwork, 4 O’clock on the dot. We’d mostly banter back and forth. He’d find clever ways of getting me to engage in conversation with him, mostly by offending me with back handed compliments. It actually got so out of hand I had to change my appointment with Dr. Quinzel who thought the interactions were “cute.” (She would think that.) I didn’t tell Richard about the encounters because I knew the Boy Blunder would have to defend my honor and well, honestly, I didn’t want the fuss. I also didn’t want a babysitter.

For a few weeks I didn’t hear from him, and I hate to admit it, but in a way I kind of missed our banter (though I’m not even sure why). Still, I went about my business until one day Dr. Quinzel handed me an envelope. She told me Eric had given her a letter and had asked her to deliver it to me on his behalf. I for one was caught off guard for several reasons. An obvious one being that my doctor, who was supposed to be looking out for  _my_  best interest, was more interested in playing match maker. I mean, I know she thought it was important that I became more open to relationships, but to actually be playing a hand in it was just immoral. Still, she somehow convinced me to give the young man a chance, or at least  _read_  the letter. I of course questioned whether she’d read it or knew what it said, to which she replied, “I don’t know what he wrote, but I can tell you that whatever it is, it’s the _truth_.”

I remember shaking my head, and seriously contemplated never stepping foot in her office again (which I honestly should’ve). “How would you even know what the truth is?” I asked her cynically.

She smiled and I could see she meant no harm. In her own _twisted_ way  _she thought_  she was helping me and  _she thought_  this was the best way. “When someone puts words into writing there’s always a layer of truth my little bird.”

I looked down at the envelope and took a deep breath. I didn’t answer her, I honestly couldn’t and as much as I don’t want to admit it, Dr. Quinzel was right. But by the time I realized it, it was too late.

In disappointment I went home and threw the letter on my bed. I didn’t read it right away mostly because I was honestly afraid of what it might say. (It was the truth after all.) For all I knew it was just an arrangement of unkind words or something meaningless and petty. It didn’t matter that I thought very little of him because at the time I thought very little of myself. I didn’t need anyone else reminding me of how worthless I felt and I didn’t need anyone to tell me  _why._

Still, after a long night of hiding away in my bedroom I heard a knock on my door. I opened it just a crack to find Richard waiting for me on the other side.

“Hey Rae, can we talk?” He asked causally.

I opened the door wider and stepped aside, “What do you wanna talk about?”

“Nothing really, I was just wondering how you are.” He replied entering my room. “So, how are you? Is everything alright?”

I closed the door and sat down on my bed. “I’m okay… I guess?” I honestly didn’t know what to tell him. There was so much going on in my head and I knew I was doing very little to remedy any of it. I also knew that as much Richard wanted to help me, he also wanted to hear that I was alright. Not out of any selfish reasoning or because it was his job, but because he cared.

He smiled weakly at the sound of my voice, a look of defeat cast in my eyes. “Raven, you know I’m willing to listen, right?”

I closed my eyes at his words which seemed to be cutting deeper than either of us thought necessary. “I know, but it’s so much more than that.” And it was. I honestly couldn’t take the pain of _existing_ anymore and I felt as though I were being crushed under the weight of my own life. Even just his expectations for me to get better were overwhelming, because at the end of the day I was letting him down.

“Richard, I just don’t really know what to say right now. I mean, I’m fine. You really shouldn’t worry about me. You have other things far more important to deal with.” I said trying to sway his concerns.

“Raven, there’s nothing more important than my friends.” He replied somewhat insulted.

“Well what if you can’t help me?”

“Raven don’t say that. There’s always a way, you should know that better than anyone.”

Now I personally don’t like to use the term _trigger_ , but there was just something about his statement that just literally clawed under my skin. “Yeah I know, there are a lot of things I should know, yet I find little will to acknowledge them.”

Richard furrowed his brow at my sudden mood swing, “Rae relax, there’s no reason to get angry.”

“Really? Because I can think of a few.” I hissed crossing my arms.

Richard daringly sat down beside me and placed a hand on my shoulder, which I debated shrugging off but didn’t for some reason. “Rae, I understand that this hasn’t been easy on you, but you really need to stop letting this situation control you.”

Now I would like to point out that Richard was one hundred percent right, I shouldn’t let my disorder control me, but that is so much easier said than done. Also, it’s not a very bright thing to say to someone who’s depressed because they feel like they have no control. And to be perfectly honest it was an extremely hypocritical thing to say. He had no idea how I felt because if he had, he wouldn’t have said something so insensitive. I know he wasn’t trying to upset me, but it’s hard to understand how depression affects one’s state of mind if you’ve never actually experienced it. I don’t choose to live like this and if I could just turn it off I would.

“Don’t you think I know that?” I snapped. “Believe me, if I had any control over my situation I’d change it, but unfortunately I just can’t.”

He looked back at me and though he didn’t quite understand what I meant, it was clear he knew he’d unknowingly crossed the line. “Raven I’m sorry, maybe I don’t understand, but I’m trying to, I just wish you’d let me.”

It’s funny how words that are so simple can be so sharp. All Richard ever wanted was to help me, whether it was overcoming my father or by just helping me through a typical day. He always refused to stop believing in me, and that’s why it was so hard. He was the only person whose opinion really mattered to me and he always chose to see the good in me even when no one else could (especially me). So to know I was failing him left me defeated, and I wanted nothing more than to prove him right, but I couldn’t.

“It’s not that simple, I just feeling like the world is constantly ending and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

Richard looked away as I hung my head low. I could see the look on his face darken as thoughts of helplessness began to creep into his mind. I hated the feeling that came over him because it was reminiscent of mine. I could feel a void burn in his head and that was the moment I realized that Richard actually could understand me, but I didn’t want him to. Not if it meant me hurting him. I couldn’t bear to know I was the reason all the painful memories he’d successfully overcame had dug themselves up and destroyed him the same way mine did.  

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He said after a long moment.

I didn’t respond. I just couldn’t bring myself to throw my burden at him, even though he wanted me to.

“Is the therapy helping you?” He asked trying to break the silence.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Is it helping with the-”

“Yes, I stopped.” I said cutting him off before he could finish his sentence. I cringed at the thought of him saying the word. There was just something about the sound of it that would’ve hurt more than anything I could ever do to myself.

Richard bit his lip awkwardly as he saw how uneasy I became. He could tell I wasn’t comfortable talking about it and I knew he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of me doing it. But that still didn’t change the fact _I_ was lying to him.

I rose from the bed to put some distance between us. I couldn’t take the chance of him feeling my dishonesty and subtly blocked our bound. He could instantly feel that something wasn’t quite right, but not enough to voice it. I hated shutting him out, but I really felt as though it was the right thing to do.

Richard looked up at me and let his eyes peer off to the side where he noticed the envelope sitting to his right. “What’s this?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

I looked over and saw him reach out for the letter with curiosity. “It’s just something my doctor gave me. I haven’t gotten a chance to read it yet.” I said illusively, knowing how protective he was.

“Why would she give you a letter?” he inquired, causing me to turn and take the letter away from him.

“It’s not a letter, it’s just some information about ECT she wants me to read?”

Concern took over his features and his voice became heavy with it, “You’re going to have ECT?”

“No. She just wants me to consider it, but I can assure you that I’m not interested in going through with it.”

I turned away from him and opened one of my desk’s drawers, the one where I kept all my “secrets.” I looked down at my stacks of tarot cards and a few old poems I’d written. My eyes fell over an old wooden box that used to belong to my mother. I felt irony hit me as the thought of what I kept in the box voiced itself in my head,  _“You’ve perfected drowning just as she did.”_ I closed my eyes, blocking my vision of the object and silently scolded Cruelty for her callous but  _true_  statement. Quickly, I shut the drawer and swallowed my apprehension before Richard could catch its scent.

“You know Rae, if ECT is what it takes for you to get better, then I’ll support your decision.” He said in a calm voice.

I smiled sadly at his words and turned to face him, “Richard, I really don’t think it’s going to help me and well, honestly, it’s more of a last resort.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, his voice laced with a gritty concern.

“That if medication and talking therapy can’t help me in the long run, that’s the only thing really left to try?”

He looked up at me with storminess in his eyes, “Does that scare you?”

My face fell at the question as it cut into my vulnerability, “Yes, because if that’s all that’s left to do, and it doesn’t work, then there really is no hope for me and I’ll be left at the bottom of my ocean for the rest of my life. I don’t know if I can live like that, like… this forever?”

I let my body sink down to the bed as I became engulfed in the abyss that devoured me. I felt Richard wrap his arms around me, but without the shelter of our bond my body felt numb.

After that I assured Richard that I was fine and that our little heart to heart discussion really helped me. Once again I found myself not just lying to him, but to the both of us, because to a certain degree I wanted to believe that it did help. But if that had been true then I wouldn’t be writing this now, would I?

Richard gave me a hug and bid me goodnight. It was quite late, but with all the chaos swimming through my head there was no way I could fall asleep. Not even with the use of my sleeping pills. I waited a few moments until I heard his footsteps cease. Once they were no longer resonating I moved from the door and practically ran to my drawer with every intention of breaking my ( _already broken_ ) promise to him. I pulled it open and reached for the box, but stopped when my eyes found the letter. I looked down at my still hand as it waited for my command, but curiosity overcame habit and I took the letter in my possession.

With my trophy in hand I turned on the radio, the sound of _“Mother”_ by Tori Amos filled the room, drowning out my thoughts and ever screaming emotions.I took a seat on my bed and placed the letter down in front of me. It had been hours since I’d received it and I’d already put off reading it several times. With both fear and discovery eagerly dripping from my fingertips I opened the envelope and took out three full pages of hand written text. His penmanship was a bit sloppy, but legible, being written in a mixture of cursive and printing techniques. I began reading the first page which stated that each week he’d looked forward to our meetings and that when they’d stopped he felt a void which he’d never felt for another. I remember rolling my eyes at how cliché his words sounded, but as I read on I found myself becoming surprisingly flattered by them. He went on describing how he felt about me and that my beauty “could only be rivaled by the moon and the stars.” This, I actually found quite poetic though he was by no means magnificent at writing verse. Still, he added that he wished to show me how to overcome such beauty because I couldn’t possibly know how truly beautiful I was. (Now that isn’t verbatim, but you get the picture.)

He went on to say that he found my beauty “tragic” and that it was clear I knew much suffering. He even went as far as to write me a short poem that I can still recite by memory.

_“In a moment, I could not describe, my words_

_As they were lost, in a time, that I, could not recite_

_For her beauty was dark, I must show her the light._

_Behind your mask, you are, but a shadow, to the world_

_Only I, can truly see you, as you are, only I, can complete you._

_From the moment, I saw you, I knew, only I, could truly, love you”_

It was simple, yet beautiful or so I thought at the time. In those five lines I found myself becoming blind to his inner thoughts and more perceptive to his charm. Now I know what you must be thinking, how could someone who could say such flattering and kind things be so bad? Well, I’ll get to that.

He concluded the letter by asking me to meet him the next day at a coffee shop not far from the hospital. He wrote that if I wasn’t there by 4 o’clock that he’d respectfully withdraw his pursuit and leave me be, but he hoped I’d give him a chance.

I placed the letter down, unsure of what to really think of it. No one had ever written me anything like that before, and the last person to ever sway me with such beautiful words later used them against me. I actually read it once more and found even more redemption in his confessions than the time before. Still, my past wounds were present, making me question whether pursuing the author was wise. I didn’t really know this young man and to be honest I can’t say I was fond of him based off on our previous encounters. But there was something about the letter that drew me in. It did something I didn’t really think it could, it made me feel. Though it wasn’t much, it was just enough to make me want it, and want it I did.

The next day I found myself walking to the coffee shop, the possibility of regret present in my chest. I was still struggling with my decision and with every passing step I found myself fighting the urge to turn back. I didn’t really know what I wanted or better yet, I did, I just didn’t know if I should have it. I was going against everything I was taught and I was going after something that reminded me of what I’d lost years before. I didn’t want to admit it, but I missed the way Malchior made me feel. I knew none of it was true, but that still didn’t change the fact that what I felt was.

This realization frightened me because I knew I could just as easily get my heart broken. I wasn’t any stronger than I was when I first met Malchior, only more embittered and scared. However, before I knew it, I was standing at the entrance to the coffee shop peering inside. He didn’t see me at first, my mind screamed for me to run as my heart filled with apprehension.

_You shouldn’t be here,_ I thought silently,  _you need to leave now!_ Hesitantly, I turned to leave when I heard a dark voice call my name.

“Raven?” I turned to find Eric looking back at me with a glimmer of confusion in his eyes.

“Damn.” I whispered under my breath as I looked up at the clock that faithfully read 4 o’clock overhead.

He rose from his chair and approached me, “Are you going somewhere?” He asked, looking at me with smoky grey eyes.

“No, I mean… well… yes.” I stammered awkwardly trying not to look like a fool, but hardly succeeding. “This was a terrible idea.” I turned to exit, but before I could make my escape I felt a familiar hand grip my arm.

“Raven wait, I know you think this isn’t a good idea, but at least talk to me first.”

I looked away from his gaze and with little resistance convinced myself to stay. Nevertheless, after he bought me cup of tea, he asked if I’d feel better if I took a walk with him in the park. I agreed due to the fact the coffee shop was a bit crowed and for the most part I had a hard time settling my emotions.

As we exited the shop he began trying to engage me in conversation. “Ya know I really didn’t think you’d come.”

“Well I did.” I replied still hanging on regret.

“Yeah and even then I had to beg you to stay, what’s with that?”

I looked away and out to the distance, “I’m simply just looking out for my best interest.”

“And what would that be?”

“Not getting my heart broken.” I stated in a protective tone.

His smile grew wider and more arrogant. “That would imply that you’re actually  _interested_?”

“Don’t push it. I came because I thought you deserved the benefit of the doubt.”

We continued our conversation though I still kept my guard up, but with time I began to let my defenses fall a little. I learned that he was a musician by trade and played the piano among other things. I asked him why he was seeing Dr. Quinzel (not that it was any of my business). He replied unfazed, saying that he suffered from bipolar disorder and he’d been being treated for it since he was about sixteen years old. He described his state of mind as highs and lows saying that he struggled to find any middle ground. He asked me why I was seeing the good doctor to which I hesitated. He reassured me he wouldn’t judge me and that he’d understand if I didn’t want to tell him. However, I thought because he’d shared his personal demon with me he deserved the same curtsey. I told him I was being treated for depression and how my life really only consisted of lows. I explained it as drowning and to my surprise he found the analogy familiar.

“I know what you mean it’s like you’re just at the bottom of a lake looking up at the surface, but no matter how far up you reach, you just can’t break the surface.” He said losing himself in thought.

I raised a brow in surprise, “That was actually quite poetic of you.”

“Well, I’ve been known to write a decent verse every now and then.”

“I’ll give you decent; the one you wrote me was very…” I trailed off trying to find the right word.

“Habitually versed?”

“I was gonna say peculiar, but we’ll see about  _habitually versed_?” I replied doubtfully taking a sip of my tea.

“You know I almost didn’t give you that poem.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well because, I didn’t think a girl like you would even consider taking a second look at a guy like me.”

“And what kind of girl am I?”

A sly smirk crept across his face, “The type who’s too smart for her own good.”

I remember caught off guard by the statement and took a good look at him as though I could judge its integrity by the look in his eyes. There was something about it, something strange that I’d never seen before in another’s. I couldn’t begin to explain it, but it was actually quite intriguing.

About an hour later I looked at the time and knew my friends were probably wondering where I was. Not wanting to worry them I told Eric that I needed to head home. He offered to walk me there, which I declined, telling him I needed the time to myself (which he surprisingly understood). Yet, he refused to let me leave until he’d secured an official date with me. I thought about it for a moment and didn’t see the harm in it. I’d actually enjoyed his company, and if anything, it was a nice distraction from my reality for the time being. 

After that I walked home, the whole time thinking of the time I’d spent with Eric and how it made me feel. It was something I’d felt before and burned like a memory filled with rediscovery. It left me with a strange sense of gratification and it seemed as though I was actually on a high, something I didn’t experience often. I was amazed that someone like Eric could actually make feel so untouchable. I began to question how he could have such an effect on me. That was when I realized it was because he reminded me of Malchior. This of course frightened me for the most obvious reasons. Malchior represented one of my greatest failures and he taught me what it meant to _hate._

The rediscovery of these emotions scared me, and to be honest, I wasn’t really sure how to react. On one hand, I enjoyed the feeling his presence left behind, but I was well aware what those feelings could lead to. I’d made myself a promise after Malchior, that I’d never again allow someone to take advantage of me, and I intended to keep that promise. However, I’d already promised I’d give Eric the benefit of the doubt, but I had to ask myself if he was worth the risk.

When I arrived back at the tower, I came upon Starfire, who was working in her garden. The light from the sun was beating down on her gold skin, giving her life as she sat beneath it. “Greetings friend Raven, where have you gone to on this glorious noon of after?”

I smiled at her tone, “I went out for some tea, I ended up taking a long walk.”

“That sounds wonderful. It is a joyous day, is it not?”

“Yeah, it’s nice,” I said sincerely. I looked back at the alien girl, she’d always followed her emotions freely (something I could never do). So I thought that maybe she could help me with mine. “Hey Star, can I ask you something?”

“Of course friend Raven, I am always happy to do the lending of my ears.”

I playfully rolled my eyes at her analytical use of the English language, “Okay, if you met someone who you thought you could possibly really care for, but they reminded you of someone who hurt you, what would you do?”

Starfire took a long look at me and for a moment didn’t say anything, “Oh my X’hal! Raven have you met an attractive earth boy who you wish to engage in the earthy custom of dating?” She exclaimed suddenly, making me regret my question.

“No!” I shouted, “I’m just asking because well… my therapist thinks I should consider dating?”

“Oh Raven! You must tell me who it is that you-“

“Starfire stop!” I yelled, cutting her off, “Can you please just answer my question?”

“Oh, why yes,” She replied a bit bewildered, “On my planet we listen to what our emotions tell us to do, we do not over think our situation, we just do what feels right and natural.” She smiled.

“But what if you don’t know what’s right?”

“If you cannot understand what is right then you are placing too much thought into the experience. You need to think of courting as a wonderful adventure.” She said throwing her arms up in the air with enthusiasm.

“So you’re saying if a person makes me feel happy then I should ignore the fact that he reminds me of someone else.”

“You are still doing the ‘over thinking’ friend Raven.” Starfire said staring back at me. “You need to trust  _yourself_. You will know if one is not appropriate for you.”

It was after that I thanked her and headed off to my room to, yes you guessed it, “over think it”, and how could I possibly not? The last time I let my guard down for someone other than my friends I got burned in the worst possible way. Still, I admittedly missed the way Malchior made me feel, and that was part of the reason I grew to hate him so much. But for the first time in years those feelings seemed to find life again.

However I wasn’t sure what to do, so I did the only thing I thought I could do, I made an appointment to see Dr. Quinzel. Looking back that was probably the stupidest idea I’ve ever had, but there I was, sitting across from her, stupidly asking for her advice.

“So doll, you’re not sure if you should keep seeing him because even though ya like him he reminds you of your ex and that really freaks ya out right?” The doctor said flamboyantly.

“Uh, yeah?” I sarcastically replied.

“Well I think you’re over thinking it doll, it’s normal for you to be over protective of yourself, but you need to take chances and meet new people.” She smiled wide and continued. “Just cause some jerk hurt ya in the past doesn’t mean this one will. You should give him a shot, he’s a sweet kid.”

I rolled my eyes, but she was right, just because Malchior used me didn’t mean every man in my life would, but I still had my doubts. Either way I took her advice and later that night I went on my date with Eric.

I met him at a local club where they held poetry readings and often had live music. That particular night the club was featuring a dark wave ensemble called  _Black Tape for a Blue Girl_ that I was actually quite fond of.I, at first, felt a little out of place. I’d never been on a real date before and it also didn’t help that I still had my doubts about Eric.

“You seem nervous, relax.” He said pulling my chair out for me. I thanked him for doing so and gave him an uneasy smile. “You look really beautiful tonight Raven.” He said as I felt my face flush at the compliment.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to say that.” I replied as the band played a cover of  _“Shadow of a Doubt”_  originally by  _Sonic Youth_.

“Well then how would you know how beautiful you are if I didn’t tell you.” Now at the time I remember smiling at this, but had I known what he actually meant by it I would’ve been insulted. Eric truly had a talent for saying things that sounded complementary, but in reality everything he said was a form of self-flattery. (If only I’d seen it sooner.)

The night went on very well. My doubts about Eric seemed to fade from my mind with every passing moment. He may not have been very refined and he was quite rough around the edges, but he had a layer vulnerability that was appealing. (Too bad it was more of an act.)

On our way home he walked me to a park that wasn’t far from the tower. On the way there, I explained how I wasn’t every good with relationships and my past attempt at one ended in my emotional ruin.

“That’s really a shame gorgeous, but I’d never do anything like that to you, I promise.”

“And how do I know I can trust you.” I asked with a playful crassness.

He smiled and said with a husky voice, “Because everything I do will be for your own good.” It was then he pulled me into a kiss and my fate was sealed. With that kiss I bought everything he sold and I didn’t even think twice about it.

After the kiss broke I assured him I could walk the rest of the way. He tried to fight me about it, but I told him I only lived a block away. He smiled and kissed me one last time before I left him to the company of the moon. Walking home I found myself in a blissful state. My mind was fully distracted from its normal torture as were my emotions. When I entered the tower I found it quiet and still. The main room appeared to be empty and I decided to make myself a cup of tea to take back to my room. I filled the kettle and placed it on the stove when I heard a voice call my name, startling me. I turned to find Richard now sitting upright on the couch where he’d apparently fallen asleep (waiting for me of course).

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” He asked sounding like a worried father.

I shook my head and furrowed my brow as I looked up the clock to see it was almost 1 am.

“Where were you all night?” His voice was weak as the sound of fatigue hung in his throat.

“I was out with a friend.” I said brushing off his question, waiting for my water to boil.

Richard’s face almost hit the floor as though the thought that I could possibly have a social life was just too much. “Like a date?”

I froze at his words and turned to face him slowly, unsure why he would even rush to that conclusion. We both looked at each other for an awkward moment as he realized how his question sounded.

“So it really was a date?” He asked tousling his hair sheepishly.

I didn’t say anything at first, and I don’t know why, but I got the idea that Richard may have been disappointed. “Yeah it was a date… I guess.”

“Oh ok,” Richard muttered, “did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, it was nice.”

“Where did you meet this guy?” He asked now coming out of his shock and into his normal over protective self.

The kettle began to sound off and I turned to retrieve it. As I was doing so I mentioned that I’d met Eric walking home from the hospital.

“Wait, is he a patient?”

“Yes, is there a problem with that?” I said defensively.

“Well no, but I just don’t want you to get hurt or end up with someone who-”

“Who’s what, who’s crazy, unstable, depressed?”

“No, someone who doesn’t care for you enough to know what’s good for you,” Richard said raising his voice a little.  “Even if that means… letting you go.”

“Oh and let me guess you know what’s good for me right Richard?” I said coming face to face with him.

“Well, maybe… it’s hard to tell.” I could see Richard let his guard fall if only for a moment. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again, that’s all Rae.”

My face softened at his tone as I felt our bond began to pull, begging to be repaired. “Richard, I know you want to protect me, but there are some things you can’t save me from, life is just one of them.” I said turning away from him to pour my tea.

“Well if I can’t protect you Raven, then what am I supposed to do?” He asked with a sense of desperation.

I turned to him with my cup in hand and replied, “Leave the light on, just in case I forget how to get home.”


	19. But Never Doubt Part 2

**But Never Doubt**

**Part 2**

> _Hate me today_  
>  Hate me tomorrow  
>  Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you
> 
> _-Blue October_

**Journal Entry: #18 Hate Me**

I remember my words hit him with something that resembled shock, but read of understanding and realization. I could tell he knew what I meant, though I don't think he realized it at the time. I took my tea and walked to the hall, leaving him to his thoughts and feelings that were now heavy and devouring.

I could feel his eyes on me as they looked back at me, begging me not to go, but I didn't look back, I couldn't. He was my best friend, but the truth was (though neither of us wanted to admit it) there was something between us that hurt. It happened every now and then, when we as a _whole_ felt threatened, or feared being replaced.

I remember the look on his face and though I could not see his eyes, they were not hidden from me. His blues eyes filled with so many emotions at once, all clawing under his surface, clawing at my surface. Still, I continued to walk away trying to leave them behind, trying to tell myself not to look back, knowing it would be too painful if I did.

Still, my heart ached leaving him alone in the dark like that with all his uncertainties and no clear answers. I felt as though I was doing to him what so many had done to me, but I still left him alone in the dark. I didn't look back and I hated myself for it, but he didn't, he didn't hate me at all, but I wanted him to.

When I reached my room I closed the door and locked it with regret heavy on my hands. I could still feel the weight of Richard's eyes even though they were no longer present. Numbness began to drip on my skin and a beat of frustration stirred in my chest, as though something cold had been driven through my heart. It struck deep and sharp, destroying any warmth that threatened to grow and feel or even dare live. Defeat stung brashly in my eyes, but I dared not cry. _Not tonight,_ I thought with my knees growing weak and my heart once again broken, waiting to be buried and hopefully forgotten.

I leaned against the door for a moment, letting the numbness overcome me. My eyes fell on the drawer and the urge to indulge in my sickness took over. In that moment there was no poem I could be reached in and no song could be sung to make me question who I was. Only an overwhelming numbness and a lack of humanity ran through my veins, begging to be released.

This is something I feel often, as though my emotions are turning to glass, making them as fragile and delicate as my dying heart.

I opened the drawer and took out the box, my hands aching with defeat at the task at hand. I won't write the rest, I can't bring myself to. Even though I'll never let another set of eyes read these pages. Regret still stains my fingertips and just as hearing those words would hurt me, so would writing them. To see them looking back at me would only be a deep, bloody reminder of how many times I not only broke my promise to Richard, but to myself. All I could do was hope he'd leave the light on so if I forgot who I was I could find my way home again.

Forgetting who I am is something I do often, and it's something I'm quite good at. It's easier to pretend I'm not as broken as I actually am, or that if I hide it no one will notice. But those are only lies I tellmyself to make it through today, they are not the truth of tomorrow. They only go as far as the present; they do not build my tomorrow nor do they leave behind a fulfilling yesterday. They only leave me empty and dark as I'm consumed with different versions of myself that hold no weight of who I really am.

Richard seems to be the only person to ever see me for who I am and never look away from it. He's always reminded me of who I am and what I can be, though I hesitate to believe him at times. However there's a part of me he can't see, or refuses to. It's the part of me that's empty, where all the parts of me go to die. It's the space in which my broken heart sits, leaving a deep pit in my chest. I can see it in my reflection, from a distant place in my eyes as I stare back at myself. I know Richard's seen it too, but in small amounts. Still, he refuses to believe it exists and pretends it can be filled, but what he doesn't see is that nothing can live there, not even my heart.

The months that followed were a contrast to my everyday life. I found myself lost and bewildered in every passing moment. They were like stray bullets violently soaring through the fall air, threatening my every breath. It wasn't long after that night I'd started dating Eric, thinking I'd finally found someone who understood me, but not enough to hurt me. Still, we were in many ways each other's opposites with our relationship having the qualities of a train wreck.

We'd constantly argue about everything from who forgot to call who to who had better taste in music. He was defiance and I was refinement. I liked refinement, and understood it as a point of view, but for him it was a quality that just didn't fit right. Like a leather glove that refused to stretch and take the shape of the hand that wished to dawn it. There was something about him that was dark and closed off. He didn't like being vulnerable and wore his attitude on his sleeve like a badge of honor. He had a New York cruelty about him that burned its way into everything he did just like his lack of refinement.

His view of the world was crass, making him unfearful and bold, always saying what was on his mind and never backing down from a fight. To him life had dealt him one too many injustices to care what the world thought of him. These qualities were always present in his voice, and in every tone of it. They sparked in his eyes whenever something peeked his interest. They even possessed his hands whenever they graced the surface of a piano key. I found it amusing when he told me he played such a strict instrument, and that he'd been doing so since he was a child. He said he started playing when he was four after he was sent to live with his grandmother in Queens. She'd apparently spent most her life as a piano instructor and insisted he learn to play.

"That crazy old broad would sit me down at the piano for at least an hour a day and told me that I could either 'sit there and learn to play or I could sit there and do nothing'… So I just banged on the damn keys for two years." Eric's voice was filled with anarchy and crassness, but beneath it was a softness for the old woman who'd raised him. When I asked what happened to her he told me she'd died when he was 13. He'd apparently lived with her until her death. He said both his parents were "New York nobodies" and only shared one common mistake, _him_.

He said they made it no secret that they looked at him as an inconvenience. His mother was an aspiring model who had to give up her career to have him, but never accepted her role as a mother. His father was no better, being some drug dealer who came in and out of his life as he pleased, always promising he wouldn't leave, then said goodbye in the same breath. His grandmother was the only sense of family he had and when she died, so did he.

He spent his teen years being shipped from one incompetent parent to the other. He spent hours locked outside his father's apartment in Jersey while he sold and used drugs with his "friends." When he was with his mother he'd spend nights alone while she was out with another nameless man she'd probably never see again. By morning he'd usually find her somewhere in the apartment, passed out or belligerent (if she even came home at all).

By sixteen he'd dropped out of school to get a minimum wage job so he could get his own apartment or make enough money to leave. He'd already made an attempt on his life and he knew if he stayed he'd without a doubt make another. By 17 he'd saved enough money to run away or as he referred to it "get lost." He told me he just didn't want to be found and that for him the only thing that ever kept him close to his parents was gone and without her he had little need for them.

Before his grandmother's death she'd apparently set up a trust for him and made her lawyer power of attorney until he was 18. It was enough that he could easily get a job and an apartment and have little to worry about.

His story was sad and I felt sorry for Eric mostly because as much as he wanted me to think none of it hurt him, the truth was it did more than he wanted it to. I think that's why I cared for him so much, I knew how it felt to be unwanted. It was something we had in common. We were both damaged beyond repair; it was the foundation of our relationship, and ultimately,the reason it failed so miserably. We were like fire and oil. When you put us together we'd burned and scotch each other and not in a romantic way.

In the beginning I felt and acted as though I were superior to him. I was more refined and he hated me for it, but hate was all he knew. He lacked a certain tact and had little self-control to chain it. He thought he was smarter than most people and even me at times, but for some reason it didn't bother me. Maybe because I thought I was bigger than him, and he needed to feel like I wasn't. However that changed.

With time I began to notice that he'd go out of his way to prove his point and belittle mine. At first I'd hardly noticed or cared, thinking that maybe he was just passionate about what he was saying or that maybe I was wrong. But when his opposition became even more insistent and borderline demeaning, I grew tired of the behavior.

"So you two have been arguing a lot lately?" Dr. Quinzel asked, lacing her fingers in her lap.

"Yes, he just won't accept my opinions anymore, it's like he enjoys arguing with me." I replied leaning my temple against my hand. "I don't mind that he's stubborn, but I can't stand that he _has_ to be right, especially when he's _not_."

The doctor leaned in with curiosity glistening in her big eyes, "Like what hun, give me an example?"

"Like last night, we were at dinner, talking about poetry. I said that Shakespeare is the most influential author to the English language. So Eric said that was only a matter of opinion, and that he felt there have been 'better authors and poets.' Can you believe that?"

"Yeah, I hate Shakespeare," the blonde replied in a dull tone. "I mean who wants to read old English anyways?"

"It's written in early modern English." I replied with disappointment, especially because she was missing the point. "Old English was already a dead language by the Elizabethan Era."

"Yeah whatever, I doth not care, and you shouldn't either." She replied with little feeling, using the term _doth_ incorrectly. "So how did ya respond doll?"

"I told him that he was right. It was an opinion, but a _very_ popular one, but that he couldn't deny that Shakespeare added over 500 hundred words to the English language that hadn't been previously written. He of course tried to play it off like it didn't matter and I know it's a stupid thing to fight over, but sometimes I feel like he just doesn't see me as his intellectual equal." I sighed leaning back in frustration.

"Listen hun, I'm not say'n he's right and I'm not say'n he's wrong, I'm just say'n it shouldn't matter because he was clearly just trying to bate ya." The doctor said, crossing her long legs. "Has it ever occurred to you that he actually thinks that you're smart, maybe _too smart_?"

I furrowed my brow as a light laugh escaped my lips, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well Raven, you truly are a very intelligent girl, even I find myself a little threatened by ya from time to time, how do ya think that makes Eric feel?"

I thought about her statement for a moment and as it settled I could feel my face sour. "Are saying I should play dumb to satisfy my boyfriend's ego?" I asked with insult sharp in my voice.

"Well kinda, yeah. Ya' know just humor him. Let him think ya need him, that he's not inferior to ya. Men ain't that smart ya' know, he'll never realize it's just an act."

"Seriously?" I spat once again finding myself repulsed with my doctor's shitty advice. It reminded me of what people say when you have an honest and respectable opinion about something (you know the kind that has more than a leg to stand on) and people know your right, but instead of admitting it they say "you're over thinking it." But you're not over thinking it it's just that everybody else is under thinking it. So because of this same breed of stupidity I need make myself stupider? I don't fucking think so.

The doctor looked back at me as she could not only hear, but see I was not happy with the solution. "Listen doll, in relationships ya gotta pick and choose ya battles and I can tell ya, Eric isn't the only guy out there that doesn't wanna feel inadequate to his girlfriend."

I was horrified at what Dr. Quinzel was implying. She actually wanted me to just act like my opinion didn't matter and let my boyfriend bully me into submitting to his. I mean why would she think that was an acceptable solution or even think that was wise advice to give a teenage girl?

"Listen my little bird, Eric loves ya and if he lost ya he'd be devastated, just give it time and think it through before making a decision."

After leaving that day I met Eric at his apartment like I'd promised. I had every intention of talking to him about what had transpired with Dr. Quinzel and when I told him what she said he denied it.

"I don't feel inferior to you, I like that you're really smart." He said placing a cup of tea down in front of me and kissed me on the forehead. "But you tend to think your opinions are fact."

I looked up at him with venom in my eyes as he smiled, letting me know he'd said it on purpose to get to me. "Can you not do that?"

"Do what, point out your flaws?" he joked, though I honestly felt like he wasn't. "Relax Gorgeous, you know I love you, I love you more than anyone else could."

Like a fool a remember smiling at this because I thought that he meant it, that his love for me was greater than anyone else's, but I was wrong and I'd find out soon enough. With time he continued to belittle my opinions and question my intelligence. When I'd call him out on such things he'd just ignore or even brushing off my concerns. He'd follow this by feeding me lines like; "I never said you weren't smart" and "relax babe, it doesn't matter" or (my personal favorite) "well maybe you're not as smart as you think you are?" These venomous words left me empty and void of value. Whenever I tried to voice these feelings Eric would recant his statements with words that sounded less harsh. But in reality they were just as hurtful and detached as the insults he threw at me. "Remember Gorgeous, Eric loves you" and "No one will ever love you as much as I do" were constants among those bitter nothings, and in time I believed him. The truth was it didn't take much because I didn't think anyone could love me, hell I didn't even love myself. It was easy for me to believe Eric was the only person damaged enough to love me, but he didn't.

Still, I stayed because I thought I'd plateaued and there wasn't anything better for me elsewhere. The happiness he'd once brought me was gone and resentment took over, leaving me empty and more broken. Neither one of us ever gave each other anything, we only took. There was no middle ground, only highs and lows, and like Eric once told me, "the extremes are what kill you."

Our "lows" mostly began when the topic of sex was brought to the table, and due to its ever so complicated nature I found myself looking down the barrel of moral straights. Now for me this was a very big step and at first Eric understood (or at least pretended to). It was something I'd never done before and clearly wasn't ready for. However, in time Eric's attitude changed.

After we passed the two month mark it always came up and I always had the same answer for him, yet he persisted to try. Now it's not that I'd planned on remaining a virgin for the rest of my life, but I just wasn't willing to give up the one thing I considered _mine_ without giving it some serious thought. It was something Eric never quite understood or saw for that matter. My virginity was _mine_ and I had control over who I gave it to. He just couldn't grasp how important that was to me and in a lot of ways I felt like it was the only thing I had control over. No one could take that decision away from me, it was mine to make when I wanted to make it.

For a good part of my life I thought it was a decision I'd never have to make and I was okay with that. But after Malchior and the defeat of my father I began to think of it as a possibility, and even then it was frightening. I'd actually have to trust someone, and at a far deeper level than I ever had. Still, I often considered that it would never happen and truth be told I found that comforting. Not so much because the idea of sex scarred me, but that I'd never have to trust someone that much. I myself may not have known that much about love and dating, but I knew enough to see that sex changed everything and not always for the better.

Still, after three months of dating I could see Eric becoming even more unwilling to wait and his frustrations grew with each passing day I wouldn't let him touch me. But that still wasn't enough to make me give into him (as annoying as it was).

I considered asking Dr. Quinzel for advice, but recalled how morally flawed she was. She probably would have told me I was using my virginity to punish him or something stupid like that (though it was possible I was in some twisted way). I looked at it as ' _well, he isn't making me happy so why should I make him happy, does he even think my happiness is important?'_ (I know that sounds really fucked up, but our relationship was really fucked up.)

He wasn't the only one who could be cruel; I had my own moments where I'd saying things to make him feel smaller. Looking back now I can tell you those words did what they were intended to, but they never made me any bigger. We were a match made in Hell, and to each other we were Hell.

I never let him meet my friends because well, I didn't trust him enough to tell him who I really was. (First sign of a bad relationship, you won't even tell your boyfriend who you really are.) I didn't want him to know where I lived and I didn't want him to know who my friends were. Not only that, but I knew both Richard and Victor would have never approved and to be honest Richard had already voiced his opinions.

"Do you even know who this guy really is?" he asked me after I'd stumble in from a night out with Eric.

Our friendship had begun to suffer greatly and the subject of Eric didn't help.

"I know him well enough Richard." I replied trying to brush off his concerns.

The look on his face darkened at my tone, "Well enough for what?" He replied, almost resentful.

I remember finding his words disgusting and vengeful though I wasn't really sure why. Still, within moments my hand collided with his face, creating a loud percussion. "Don't you ever speak to me like that again!" I hissed in utter disappointment. Richard and I didn't fight often, but when we did we were like a car crash, relentless and violent in nature, and fiery nonetheless.

Richard once told me that it's the people we love the most who cut us the deepest and for Richard and I it was no different.

He placed his hand to his face as the pain radiated to the surface, "I deserved that Raven, I'm sorry." A look of shame rolled over his face as he realized how deep he'd cut me. "I don't mean it that way Rae, I just… hell I don't know." He sat down at the table with a sigh of defeat. "What happen to us Rae, we used to be so close, now every time we talk I feel like all we do is tear each other apart."

I sat down next to him, but looked away. Our friendship had been in the process of deterioration for months. We didn't talk to each other anymore and when we did, we only spoke of our frustration and bitterness for each other. I didn't confide in him anymore and I acted like I didn't need him, but I still did. I just didn't want to.

The things that haunted me had become more complicated and I knew if I told him he'd never understand. I also didn't want his judgments and as much as he said he wouldn't, the truth was he would, and whatever they were, they were warranted. I was living my life as if it was nothing more than a bargaining chip and to me it was losing value. My decisions were careless and detached from how they would affect me in the long run. (Truthfully because I wasn't really thinking of a _long run,_ and I didn't think I had one.)

I didn't expect Richard to understand and the truth was I didn't want him too. To understand a mind like mine he'd have to see the world through the darkness as I do. He'd have to look up from the bottom of the ocean, helplessly fighting the urge to drown and think of what life is like for those beyond it.

"I happened Richard." I said looking off to the window, noticing the moon's reflection resting on the water's surface. It reminded me of the night we'd spent together and how safe I felt with him. I missed that feeling and I missed those moments. It was easier then, though I wasn't sure why. Maybe because I thought I didn't have much time?

"What's that supposed to mean Rae?" He asked, lost in my words.

I remember thinking about how the things people say aren't easily forgotten and how sometimes it's easier to forgive actions rather than words. "It means I'm incapable of genuine emotion and I handle it poorly."

I didn't look back at him, but I could feel the look on his face harden as his voice followed suit. "That's not true, I've seen you deal with and show more 'genuine' emotion than almost anyone in this tower Raven. You hurt just as much as the rest of us, you just try not to show it, but it's okay too."

Finally, I looked over at him; deep passion burned behind his mask with frustration clinging to his side. I could see I was causing him pain, making him dwell in things that bred questions with answers that seemed simple, but weren't. "Well it feels like I don't, like I can't, like nothing is ever as simple as everyone thinks it should be." I let my fingertips grace my forehead as I pulled a strand of hair away from my eyes, "Everything just feels so empty these days and when anything feels even remotely real it's just too much. I can't help how I am, but I want too, the only problem is I'm… me."

I looked down at my hands in disgust, feeling a sting of defeat fall over me like a cruel darkness. My hair fell in my face, covering it and the hollow look in my eyes. Richard reached out his hand to brush the strands from my face, but I shrugged him away before he could do so. I didn't want him to see the sadness cast in my eyes or feel my pain anymore then he already did. Still, he pulled back much like a small child being nipped at by a dog they thought was harmless.

He uncomfortably muttered, "sorry" and looked away again, but I could feel he wasn't ready to give up just yet. "I really miss you Rae, I feel like we aren't even friends anymore, ever sense you started dating that guy, you just don't…"

"Don't what?" I snapped sarcastically.

"Trust me anymore." He said from an empty place. "You won't even let me meet him. Do you even trust him?"

Richard hated that I wouldn't let him meet Eric and this frustration was no secret, whereas the rest of the team kept their curiosity to themselves. Except Starfire of course, she would constantly ask me questions about my relationship and would get excited if I shared anything with her. Gar and Victor mostly teased me about it, but kept their over-protective nature to a minimum.

"I don't know if I trust him."

"Then why are you with him Raven? You deserve so much better." He said with pleading frustration tangled in his voice.

"But I don't," I muttered absent mindedly, "I don't even trust myself so how is anyone going to trust me? Plus, I can't even put into a relationship what it would take to make someone happy."

Richard's eyes shot back at me with horror and question, "Do you even hear yourself? How can you be with someone who would let you think so low of yourself?"

"How can you not see that I can't have a normal relationship with a normal functioning person?"

"What the fuck Rae, really?"

"Really what, Richard? What the hell do you even want from me?"

"I want you to love you just as much as I do." Richard paused awkwardly at the words that unknowingly escaped from his lips.

"What?" I questioned dumbly, staring at him as his eyes darted in the other direction.

"Um… I… that's… uh, that's not what I meant, I mean that sounded, shit… that came out wrong." He said fumbling his words and putting his head in hands, embarrassment and dismay pouring off him like smoke. "Raven I'm sorry, I didn't mean that like it-"

"Shut up Dick." I spat in frustration at how foolish he sounded.

His embarrassment was heavy and visible as he scrambled to convey what he really meant. "Rae I-"

"Just stop, you're not helping." I spat getting up from my chair, still slightly shocked by his statement, though I wasn't sure why. I always knew Richard loved me in a platonic way, so why were we both so uncomfortable with him actually saying it?

"Raven wait." He said as I began to walk away. I turned to him with both sadness and anger on my face (and not for the reason he probably thought of). "I do love you; I meant that, but-"

"You don't love me like that, I know Richard you don't need to remind me." I hissed to the point he could taste the venom on my own tongue.

I could see the words physically hit him as his face darkened, "That's not what I was gonna say."

"Just because you weren't gonna use that arrangement of words doesn't mean it would've sounded any different." I turned and left him to the bitterness he felt for me, hoping that maybe it would give him the resentment he needed to hate me.

In fact, I wanted him to hate me or at least hate me enough to stop believing in me. I couldn't keep letting him down and I didn't want him to believe in something useless and broken. Richard had always given me hope, even when there was little, but it hurt too much when there wasn't any. Still, I knew there was something more he wanted to say to me, but I knew if I heard it, it would've crushed me. I could feel his love for me bound in fear and desperation, but it was more complicated than that, deeper even? There was a need for me he'd always had and for the most part it was what kept our bond strong, and kept our trust in each other. But I felt like it would also be the death of him if he didn't let go. The need kept him close, it kept him hoping, but that hope was just a small match that would burn out within moments because there was nothing for the flame to catch onto. Just like my mother.

Any hope she had was small, lasting only as long as the match would permit. The tiny flame would bring little light to the darkness, but when darkness is all you know, sometimes a small flame is all it takes. The problem was there was nothing to make it grow and when it reached its end, everything died.

After that night Richard and I didn't really speak anymore unless it was necessary to do so. He stopped waiting for me at night, but he didn't stop caring. He just didn't voice his concerns, mostly because it hurt too much when he did.

Things with Eric grew even more unstable and within a month of my argument with Richard **,** Eric and I finally broke up, and in the worst possible way. It was one night in January and things between Eric and I had finally come to a boil. Our frustrations with each other had become more than resentful and at times I think hate was the only thing that kept us together. We didn't function like a real couple anymore and we fought even more than we usually did. Any small amount of retribution had vanished and our fights became even more vicious towards one another, but for some reason I still held on. I didn't even love him anymore and I don't think I ever really did, but still I clung to him almost like a firefly in a jar. Hoping he'd light the way, but his light flickered and was none existent against the vast darkness in my thoughts. He was useless to me, in his small, feeble jar, always bound by its confines and defied by them. Even his world was small, possibly even smaller than mine.

On this particular night I was sitting in my room reading a sonnet by Edward De Vere called _Love thy Choice._ As I read the beautiful poetic lines I began to ask myself similar questions, wondering who caused me the most pain and discontent. It was then I began to realize in full how unhappy I was in Eric's company and how _alone_ I felt. It's funny how just fourteen lines could show me how empty our relationship was and how the only thing it left was bitterness. He was always in the safety of his jar while I was left to the cold world simply looking in at him. And for the first time I could see that would never change.

I placed down the book the sonnet was published in and sat up on my bed. I wasn't really sure why, but I felt like I needed to see Eric and it couldn't wait. I opened my closet and pulled out my black coat, pulling it on as I made my way out. I wasn't sure what I was going after, but I figured I would find it when I got there.

The last I'd seen Eric was the night before. We were at his apartment and he'd asked me to spend the night (an invitation I'd always declined). However, after dating him for about four months I decided that maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. (I was wrong.)

We'd gone out earlier that evening and for the most part the night wasn't that bad. We talked and tried to get a handle on our tragic relationship. We both knew we were at fault for things and for the most part agreed to try and mend the wounds.

I recall looking over at him and thinking how funny it was that after dating for as long as we had how little we actually knew about each other. We looked at one another for a long moment and I think he may have actually loved me, at least for that moment. There was a sadness between us, something we both understood and as strange as it sounds, I think that's what kept us together.

Later that night we went back to his apartment. It was close to one in the morning and Eric had just a few too many. He wasn't belligerent, but he'd lost what little filter he had left. He stumbled into the apartment with an eagerness, throwing his keys on the floor and fumbled happily to his bed. His apartment was small, being just a studio style layout with a small kitchenette he hardly ever used. His bed was located on the far wall by the window which over looked a construction site. It wasn't the nicest apartment in the nicest part of town, but it had character with its exposed steel beams and rich history. I remember looking at the old brick walls trying to piece together the stories they'd witnessed and what (if any) fond memories were made within them. I know Eric and I didn't have many and if walls could talk they'd have little good to say about us. They'd mostly tell of arguments and brittle emotions that broke and tore at us. Their voices may have been silent, but their judgments weren't. They'd look on at our fragments with their cold, stone eyes, constantly judging and ridiculing.

I watched as Eric tumbled down on the bed and called for me to curl up beside him. I placed my bag down on the kitchen counter not far from the door and I pulled off my shoes. I smiled at how uninhibited he was, calling my name, making it clear how much he wanted me to be with him. It made me feel wanted and cared for, something I'd not felt with him often. Still, there was a distant feeling of fear resting at my side, calling to me from the door. It spoke of regret and poor judgment. All the things I just couldn't bring myself to let go of.

I moved toward him with caution which made my body stiff and difficult to move. When I reached the bed Eric quickly pulled me down and wrapped his arms around me. His grip was tight and almost suffocating. The voice from the door still called, becoming louder with every moment. Eric began to kiss me and pull back my hair as I felt his hot breath on my neck. My mind raced with questions of how I should respond to him. I wasn't sure if I should let go or just hold on to a part of me I wasn't ready to lose. I could feel those menacing cold eyes on me, judging me, pressuring me to make the right decision and soon my own judgments came into play.

"Eric, I don't know if I'm ready for this?" I told him as his hands began to wander.

"Babe, it'll be alright, just trust me." He replied in a husky voice, filled with both desperation and desire.

My eyes flew open as the words hit me harder than I ever thought possible. _I don't trust him,_ I thought as my whole body froze under his weight. "Eric stop."

"Oh come on Raven." Frustration was heavy in his voice and it threatened to crush me with every ounce of breath it took.

"I said stop!" I yelled, pushing him off me.

He didn't respond, he just looked up at me as I shot to my feet. I looked to the door, its salvation clear in my sight. I couldn't breathe, even though I was physically free of his grip it still lingered, pulling me tightly. I could hear Eric calling to me, asking me what was wrong. His voice was distant and there was something none existent about it. I'd made my way to the counter and retrieved my bag, fumbling to put on my shoes. The door still called and I wanted nothing more to escape into it, desperate to breathe again.

Freedom flooded my mind once my hand caught the door, but it was brief and flied when a strong grip took hold of my arm. It obviously belonged to Eric, but when I turned to face him I found not the young man that I'd come to resent, but the young man I'd met in the coffee shop. I looked back at him as though I'd found a long lost friend and for a moment I wanted to stay, realizing how much I'd missed him. However this moment didn't last. Soon his grey eyes hardened, becoming jaundice and filled with contempt for me.

I tried to speak, but I couldn't find the words because there weren't any. I didn't know what I wanted anymore. I just felt the like the walls were closing in on me with their judgment, adding my story to their large collection of horrors. I pulled the door open and ran out, pulling my arm free.

I didn't look back to see if he followed me. I just descended the steps and prayed to whatever god (if any) that he didn't. My breath was still tight as I was desperate for distance and freedom I didn't know how to achieve. When I reached the bottom of the steps my legs gave out and I sunk to the floor weak from my lack of air. Pain and confusion burned in my eyes as I let my body breakdown. Tears began to scold my face, yet I didn't know why.

Every emotion in me burned, trying to devour me in their mania. Pain, longing, need, resentment, fear, hatred, lust, and even something close to love all came crashing through me like a wave. My emotions all screamed like dogs howling and wining in discontent, waiting to be fed. Some celebrated my exit while others basked in regret and frustration.

I don't know how long a stayed on that bottom step for. For all I knew it could have been minutes, but it felt like hours. I considered calling Richard, but didn't out of fear, though I wasn't sure what I was afraid of.

When I'd finally gathered myself I teleported to the tower, exhausted and in ruins. I'd made sure I arrived in my room, grateful for the loneliness that greeted me. The noise in my head was constant like a radio caught between stations, filled with static and shattered voices all trying to come through clear, but unknowingly weren't. Overcome with exhaustion I fell on my bed and wrapped myself up in my bed sheets. My emotions still played through the static, but I was too tried to silence them so I let them persist. I didn't have the strength to get out of bed so I just gave into it, listening to the static and traces of voices breaking and coming together again.

Images of fireflies in glass jars filled my tired head, dimly illuminating my thoughts. I imaged the glass beginning to break, giving the light freedom from its confines. But in reality those confines would never break because if they did then everything would, and Eric couldn't live like that.

That was the last thought I had before I fell asleep that night and it was the last thought I had before he reluctantly opened his door to find me standing behind it. I remember him looking bewildered and dazed. His hair was a bit of a mess and his eyes were distant, clearly somewhere else. He looked shocked to see me, my uncertainty clear in my eyes, unsure what I was trying to accomplish.

"Raven, what are you doing here?" His voice was tired and horse, heavy even.

"I need to talk to you." I replied trying to sound firm, but my lack of clarity made me sound cloudy and diluted.

He leaned against the door frame, keeping himself nestled between it and the door. "Now is not really a good time." He muttered trying to keep his voice from revealing too much.

_Like hell it's not,_ I thought, but kept the hostility too myself. "But I really need to talk to you Eric, about last night. It really can't wait."

"Listen, I'm kinda in the middle of something, we can talk tomorrow, I promise." He replied brushing me off once again, but this time I wasn't backing down.

I could feel he was hiding something and it was something he did _not_ want me to see. "What are you hiding Eric?" I asked, finally finding my clarity.

His eyes became swollen and fearful if only for a moment, but he pushed it down quickly into his empty place. "Nothing, I just don't want to have this conversation right now."

"Who's in there with you?" My voice was calm, yet sturdy, but he still denied my suspicions.

"You're being paranoid Raven, you should leave now."

I rolled my eyes at him and pushed the door wide open to reveal a young woman struggling to put her jeans on. She was pretty with sandy blond hair that curled in loose ribbons. Her green eyes read of embarrassment, making her pretty face pout like dog's. She too felt the walls judging her, adding her to a long list on wronged woman and a story she could never get back.

She buttoned her jeans and pulled on her loose tank top as she made her way to the door, the whole time avoiding eye contact with me. Her only exit was between Eric and I which clearly made her uncomfortable. As she moved between us she didn't even look at Eric, her body language read of repulsion and regret for what she'd now become because of him. For a moment our eyes met and I could see how hurt they were. She looked at me with glassy fear, but there was something more, she was… sorry, and I forgave her.

Once the young woman was gone I looked back at Eric, unsure of what to say to him. I was hurt and angry, but surprisingly I wasn't overcome with it. "So how long have you been cheating on me?" His face tensed and he too began to resemble a dog only he actually was one. "And the truth Eric! I'll know if you're lying to me." He still didn't say anything. I looked to the walls for the secrets they kept, their silence being the only thing that filled the room "This whole time or at least most of it?" I inquired taking a step toward him. His body tensed and he moved back deeper into the apartment. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"Raven, I…I wasn't… I?"

"Tell the truth Eric!" I shouted startling him. "Just for once, tell me the truth." My voice became a little softer, but I refused to let it break.

"Yes." He said finally, pressing his back against the wall and sliding down to the floor.

"Why? If I wasn't enough for you then why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because it has nothing to do with you Raven, it never did." His tone grew defensive as if he were saying I didn't know the first thing about him.

"That's not a good enough answer."

He looked back at me a little alarmed, but mostly frustrated, "What the hell do you want from me Raven?"

"I want the truth Eric. Just tell me why." It was all I wanted, to understand why he did what he'd done and why he picked me of all people.

"That is the truth Raven! My answer may not be simple, but it's a truthful one."

I didn't say anything for a moment I just thought about it for a minute. Ironically enough his answer was simple and I finally understood why. "You don't trust me do you?"

He smiled sheepishly, his eyes becoming swollen and glassy, "No, I don't," he looked away and stared at the wall, "but don't take it personally, I don't trust anyone, but you understand that now don't you?"

I sat down across from him, feeling his words pierce my now weakened exterior. "I guess I never trusted you either?"

"You guess?" he said mockingly, "You never even loved me. You were too busy loving someone else."

"That's not true." I insisted, almost insulted.

"Now who's the one lying?" He replied with a dull smile. "You're even lying to yourself, but you know what makes you worse than me? You actually believe your own lies." He laughed, shaking his disilluded head.

I just looked away almost sickened by the sound of it. "So if you never trusted me then why did you pursue me when you never even cared to know me?"

"Because I did. I knew exactly who you were. I knew if I told you what you wanted… you'd do almost anything for me."

I could see in the dull look in his eyes what he meant by it, he knew what type of person I was. He knew just what to say to make me both love and hate him. He knew the depths of the sadness we both shared, only he needed to feed his whereas I needed to hide mine.

"And to think I thought you actually may have loved me."

" _Love?_ People put too much stock in love Raven, it's overrated, I loved my grandmother and it never saved me from anything." His words were cold, empty, and sharp enough to cut me deeper than he ever had. Coldness filled his eyes, making me realize that his grandmother was the only thing that ever connected him to the world outside his jar. And without her it remained distant, and altogether forgotten. He was trapped in his small, meaningless world of sickness and despair. He would always be that little boy waiting outside his father's apartment or alone in his mother's. He'd never be anything but that little boy shadowed in the cruelty of others, waiting outside for the love his parents never gave him. His world would always be as big as his jar, and he'd never be anything more than a pretty decoration in the dark.

"So this isn't about love?" I asked **,** holding back the tears that wanted so badly to be freed, but couldn't.

He didn't say anything for a minute he just watched as I pulled myself to my feet. I walked to the door and opened it, but before I crossed its threshold I heard him say, "Raven, I'm sorry."

I looked down at him the way I used to, his lack of refinement spilling from him in the shadow of my refinement. I didn't forgive him. I refused to give him that. As far as I was concerned he'd lied to me, he told me loved me and he didn't. I took one final look at him as though seeing him for the first time. The boy I'd met in the coffee shop wasn't real, but the boy who broke my heart was. That would be my last memory of him, sitting on the floor, lost and loathing, telling me how much love was overrated.

Later that night I went back to the tower to bask in my own loathing and to think about my own ideas about love. I'd taken the letter he'd given me up to the roof to read one last time before I burned it. It was like reading it for the first time, but now with open eyes. The words I once found romantic and flattering now appeared cruel and insulting.

_"_ _For her beauty was dark, I must show her the light,"_ I said mockingly, "he always thought he could fix me now didn't he?"

I read through the poem with more contempt as it became clear how little he actually thought of me. Instead of reading beautiful words I now read things like: _You're pretty, but you're not that pretty. Nobody sees you. Only some like me can understand some like you. (And the classic) No one can ever love you as much as I do._

I now found them hurtful and broken. I wanted nothing more than to burn them the same why they'd burned me.

Suddenly I heard the exit door open from behind me. I turned to find Richard stepping out of the doorway and pause at the sight of me. We both froze for a moment. We hadn't spent any time together since our last argument and the truth was we both felt very confused by it.

"You can't sleep?" Richard questioned awkwardly. His mask had been discarded for the night and even in the darkness I could see his blue eyes like a beacon trying to call me home.

I looked back at him, trying to let go of some of my anger, but hardly succeeded, "No, I'm far too consumed to sleep, you?"

"I don't know, I'm restless and I just feel like something's wrong." He replied still standing by the door. "What's that?" He said warily pointing to the letter.

"It's nothing," I looked away from him and let my eyes fall on it, "it's really _nothing_."

Richard could hear the pain in my voice, the pain I couldn't conceal. It was sharp and fractured, making a fragile sound I feared couldn't be mended.

"Raven, I know we've had our differences, but if you're hurt I want you to tell me. I promise I'll keep my judgments to myself."

"But you're still going to judge me." I said in a removed fashion.

"I just wanna help you Raven. I'm trying to 'leave the light on,' but what good is that if you can't see it."

I closed my eyes and took in the sound of his plea. He wanted to help me more than anything, in fact, he needed to. Richard didn't want to _fix_ me, he wanted to _save_ me _._

"Are you familiar with _Hamlet?"_ I asked.

"Yeah, Alfred made me see it with him."

"Do you remember the poem he wrote Ophelia in the second act?"

"Not really, I just remember him saying _Get thee to a nunnery._ " He laughed at the memory and sat down beside me. "I didn't realize at the time that a _'_ _nunnery'_ was a whore house though." He snicker.

"You would remember that Boy Blunder." I said rolling my eyes. I grimaced at the letter again, resentment glowing thick in my eyes. "Hamlet wrote Ophelia a love letter and in it he professed his undying love for her." I handed Richard the letter with contempt heavy in my grip.

He took it hesitantly and looked down at it, "How did it go again?"

_"_ _Doubt thou the stars are fire,_

_Doubt thou the sun doth move,_

_Doubt truth to be a lair,_

_But never doubt I love."_ My voice was tense and I could taste the bitterness on my tongue. I could see it sting Richard even though that bitterness wasn't meant for him.

"I never really understood what that meant." He said looking up at the sky, taking in the view of silvery stars lost among a lonely moon.

"It means, you can doubt all the facts of science, but you can never doubt that I love you."

"That's a pretty powerful statement," he said in slight awe, "to tell someone that you can take the most solid truths that only science can give you, and put our own on above them, wow."

"Yes, but the sun doesn't move Richard."

"What?"

" _The sun doth move_ , means the sun does move, but it doesn't. The _truth_ Hamlet gave Ophelia was false from the moment it was composed, science proved it wrong." I let a stream a defeat escape into my voice making it fragile, but confident in my observation.

A puzzled look took over his face and his blue eyes winced with question, "But at the time that was the scientific belief."

"Yes, but Hamlet still denied writing the poem and told Ophelia he didn't love her anymore."

"Do you think Shakespeare knew about the sun when he wrote it?"

"No, but I still see it as poetic justice." And it was. I looked up at the moon remembering how my " _beauty could only be rivaled by the moon and the stars"_ Ironically enough Eric never showed me how to " _overcome"_ such beauty and if anything he made me feel like I was less than such beauty.

"He broke your heart didn't he?" Richard asked as though he could hear my thoughts.

"More or less?" I replied trying to hide behind my sarcasm and crassness.

"Raven?"

"…Yes."

"I'm sorry Rae."

I smiled weakly at my leader, "Don't be, you were right, I didn't trust him and I should have listened to you."

"No Raven, you needed to listen to yourself, it was your decision to make. I just didn't want you to make a one you'd later regret." He said with quiet question.

"I didn't, but I do have you to thank for that."

A looked of relief cast itself in his eyes as he said, "You're a smart girl, you made the right decision on your own."

"Yeah, but I still feel like an idiot for believing that he loved me." I said letting my pride fall for the moment. "Deep down I know I didn't really love him, but I still feel like I lost something and I hate myself for it."

Richard reached out his hand and took mine in his. This took me by surprise and I felt our bond awaken from its dormancy. "I know it probably feels like the end, but it's not, it's just another day."

He kissed my forehead and gave me a comforting smile. For a moment I felt safe and even though my heart was broken I felt like I could breathe again. I wasn't being suffocated by the things that bound me and for that moment I felt like Richard and I were who we used to be. We found ourselves back in those moments when we'd talk for hours, speaking of things that to others would have been trivial and meaningless, but to us they were precious and fulfilling.

We didn't say very much to each other that night. We just sat on the roof and looked up at the stars, humbled by their great beauty. The back drop of the sky was deep and vivid, pressing itself against their greatness, but unable to devour it. Only the moon could stand alongside them, nearly dwarfing their significance. Beneath this great midnight of epiphanies and mysteries I felt insignificant and lost. The sky was like one big ocean and I was at the bottom looking up. The stars were those beyond the surface, their ignorance keeping them from looking down at me as I remained lost below the waves.

Richard looked back at me, taking his eyes off the ocean overhead. I wondered if he too felt small beneath it or overcome by its greatness. His eyes were warm and held a softness I didn't see often, but when I did I felt like he saw me. It made me feel like I mattered, that I didn't belong at the bottom for once.

"Do you think that all this is for nothing?" I asked still somewhat lost, but hoping he'd be able to find me.

He smiled and let his eyes travel up to the sky once more. His blue eyes reflected both pain and beauty as they fill with pale images of stars and moonlight. "No, I think that in the end the road brings us to where we need to be. I know the losses we face hurt, but I like to think what we gain from those losses, help us become who we are supposed to be. That every wrong turn is just another way back home."

"Thanks for helping me find my way back." I said with a soft smile and let my tired head fall on his shoulder.

"I always will, just remember that if you ever find yourself lost again." He replied still holding my hand.

I smile and allowed our bond to rebuild itself for the time being and once again I felt safe with him, but I knew this feeling wouldn't last. Deep down I was still very broken and the betrayal I faced would eventually take its toll on me.

After that night I stopped seeing doctor Quinzel and I stopped taking my medication, including my sleeping pills. The decision was rash, but at the time I thought it was wise. It wasn't, but like everything else, I had to learn that the hard way.


	20. Beneath the Pain

> _“And long before it all went grey I buried my heart beneath the pain”_
> 
> _—The Rain Within_

Robin walked to the coffee shop not far from the hospital. He’d received a call from Bruce requesting to meet him there which the young man wearily accepted. However, the walk itself was peaceful, giving him time to clear his mind from the heavy conversations he’d endured the previous night.

His teammates were concerned and rightfully so, but they couldn’t quite grasp the reality of it. Robin himself understood where this train of thought came from. The thought of losing Raven scared them and they wanted answers, but he wasn’t sure if there were really any to give them. Victor seemed to be the only one who really understood Raven’s wishes and was willing to wait until she was ready to face them. He knew not to take it personally. She had a lot of healing to do before she could handle the stress of being around the people she loved, the people she felt she’d betrayed.

Cyborg tired explaining this to Starfire and Beast Boy, but they both seemed off put by notion.

“Why would seeing her friends be stressful?” Beast Boy asked with a confused expression.

“Because BB she probably feels guilty for everything she’d put us through and is afraid she’ll to have explain herself.” Cyborg answered.

“But that’s why we should see her, so we can tell she doesn’t need to explain anything and that we just want her to get better,” Beast Boy replied. His tone had a child-like quality to it, not because he was whining or caring on, but because of his optimistic nature. This quality came from a kind, warm place that was full and hopeful. It was at times even contagious and up lifting to those who opened themselves up to it. It was one of the changeling’s best qualities and even Raven found herself taken by it from time to time. However, there was a naïve nature that also came with it, and it sometimes prevented him from seeing the need for distance and privacy.

“Gar, when she’s ready to see us you can tell her that, but for now she just needs to sort things out. So until then… just be patient.” The robotic man replied, hoping his reasoning would sink in.

“But I miss her Vic.”

The robotic man felt a sting pierce the front he held, letting it fall, just for the moment. “I miss her too Gar, but we just have to hold on for now, ok?”

Robin looked on at the exchange from the kitchen, where his physical mask fell, leaving him vulnerable to his friends who seemed unaware. He hated seeing them so lost and misplaced. It made him feel helpless as a leader and sent an even bigger crack through his already damaged ego. ‘ _This isn’t about you Grayson,’_ he reminded himself silently through grit teeth.  It was something he’d been telling himself since the day he saw Bruce in the cemetery. But those words never seemed to make him feel immune to blame or disappointment.

“Friend Robin, are you alright?” A voice said from a distant reality. Robin looked up to find Starfire looking at him from across the counter. “You seem what you may refer to as  _detached_?” 

Robin looked at her for a moment and pulled himself together, clearing his cloudy eyes. “I’m fine Star just caught up in my head is all,” he replied cautiously.

“Is there something of the troublesome disturbing you?” She replied, her eyes wide as they held a dim glow of concern.

“It’s really nothing, I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“It is friend Raven, is it not?” Her face was soft and down cast as her eyes filled with regretful sadness. She may not have understood Raven’s state of mind, but she understood that her friend was in pain and she didn’t know how to help her. Starfire herself had been through a lot, but she’d always been able to find hope in darkness, even if she had to make it herself. It was who she was as a person and it was a rear quality to find in people. It was something Robin loved about her, but it also broke his heart at the same time.

Like Beast Boy, she too had a child-like quality about her. It made her life intriguing and blissful, giving life a full, sweet flavor. There was little bitterness for her, but even when there was she’d find it new and exciting. However, Starfire had a hard time accepting that for some people life could be too bitter or even too sweet, and it hurt to see her face those facts. Starfire could handle life’s extremes and found them empowering, but for Raven those extremes could be overpowering, and in her case even deadly.

Robin began to think of how frustrating that was, to not be able to taste life in its extremes and have to live with its blander sorts. He thought of how unfair it was and the defeat that placed on a person. For Starfire the extremes were what made life worth living, but she could handle them. For Raven, they were only a means to her end.

“Yeah Star, I’m just worried is all,” Robin finally said with a broken smile.

He could see her brow crease at the sound of his voice and helplessness stirred in her eyes. “I understand that Robin, but I feel as though there is more you will not speak of.”

And there was, but like Raven, Robin too had trouble handling the extremes of life and for him it was bitterness. Robin could handle every other flavor and not be overcome with it, but bitterness was something he became consumed with. Ever since he was a child it was the one thing he couldn’t stomach and it drove him to extremes he would have never experienced otherwise. It drove him to madness and nearly over the edge on more than one occasion. When life became too bitter he fell apart, and it was something Starfire never understood.

“Star, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you, I just don’t want it to bring you down,” he sighed, trying to convey his unwillingness.

“What do you mean,  _bring me down?_ ” she questioned in her bewildered nature.

“I just mean that I don’t wanna make you sad Starfire.” He replied, placing down an empty take out container.

“But Robin, you are indeed sad, so why not do the _venting_?”

Robin recalled a time when venting to Starfire was something he reluctantly did. He remembered how much it meant to her when he’d let his guard down and confided in her, but he also remember how hard she’d try to  _fix_  him. It was a part of who she was and they both had that in common. They both wanted to save their friends from themselves. But Starfire could never save Robin from _Robin_.

“Because you can’t fix it.” Robin looked back at Starfire and recoiled at the look that reflected in her bright eyes. They looked hurt, as though he’d physically struck her and in his mind he might as well have. He’d once again lost to his bitterness and in turn, Starfire had once again been on the receiving end of it. “Star, I’m sorry. I just don’t really know what to say right now.” Robin apologized, trying to undo what he’d said, but found the damage already done.

Starfire looked up at him with a nostalgic look he’d seen many times before, but it had been a few years since the last. It was a look only he could bring out of her and he hated himself when he did. Her eyes would become dull and listless as they filled with pain. Her lips would harden in a way that made her look off putting and stale like she’d bitten into a bad piece of fruit. It didn’t look right on her and she wore it poorly. Robin hoped when they parted that he’d never have to see that look again, but there it was.

“You never did Robin.” Starfire said painfully.

The words sunk into him like a blade ripping into his chest and exposing his heart for what it was. In that moment it didn’t beat and a piece of it died. His mind scrambled to respond, but there was nothing to be said and a silent void rippled through the space between them.

“Hey ya’ll, I’m gonna head off to bed now, night.” Cyborg finally said, unknowingly running interference.

“That’s a good idea. I’m gonna turn in myself, it’s been a long day.” Robin said using the opening as an excuse to escape the now uncomfortable situation and slipped away before a goodnight could be said.

Before Robin knew it he’d reached for the door of the coffee shop. The events of the previous night slipped back into his mind with an emptiness, leaving behind the light scent of guilt in their absence. Upon entering he could see Bruce sitting in the back booth with his coffee and paper. Mildly, the billionaire looked up from the black print then looked down to finish the few lines that remained unread.

Robin took a short breath and braced himself for the encounter, unsure of what to expect. Once he reached the far table he looked down to find a manila envelope sitting to the man’s side.

“Hey Bruce,” Robin said, “so what did you wanna see me for?”

“You should have been here five minutes ago.” The man said still finishing his paper.

“Uh… you said meet me at twelve… it’s twelve.” Robin replied a little put off by the statement.

Bruce folded his paper and placed it to the side, “Yes, but I taught you that on time meant at least five minutes early.”

Robin sighed and rolled his eyes, “And everyone thinks I’m uptight.”

The young man sat down across from his mentor who cracked an amused smile, “Your team thinks you’re uptight?”

“Yeah, no thanks to you. Does that make you proud?”

“It’s amusing. I remember when you could barely even take direction.” The older man let a fatherly look possess his features, but quickly removed it and got straight to business.

“So how did your little date go?” Robin asked sarcastically.

“I see you’re still as patronizing as ever,” The Dark Knight replied, brushing off his former sidekick’s humor, “but it was interesting to say the least.”

“How so?”

“Well I learned some interesting things.”

“Like what?”

“Just a few things about the hospital is all, nothing major.” Bruce shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee.

“So we’re back to this?” Robin questioned, letting frustration drip into his voice.

“Back to what, Dick?”

Robin looked back at the Bat, wide eyed and nearly speechless, “You not telling me anything?” Robin said irritably, “I guess we didn’t gain anything from our talk last night after all. You just went right back to treating me like a kid.”

Bruce furrowed his brow with discontent, “Dick I’m only keeping you in the dark because that’s where I need you to be.” He replied in a stern tone.

“You always kept me in the dark Bruce.” Robin’s words were sharp and drenched with in resentment.

However Bruce didn’t flinch, though deep down, he wanted to. “Dick, I’m sorry you feel that way, but this isn’t about you. It’s just something that I need to take care of on my own. Plus you have far more important things to worry about right now.”

Robin leaned back as old memories of his mentor’s past behavior began to replay in his head. His secretive nature and lone wolf complex were always something he struggled to understand as child. However, Robin had his own secrets and even strayed from the team from time to time, making his judgment of Bruce hypocritical. It had been years since they took on a case together and deep down Robin always thought Bruce and he would work together again. But now he questioned if that were really a possibility.

“So what’s with the envelope?” He asked.

“That’s something I’m still dealing with.”

“…And you won’t tell me because...?”

“I’m not sure what to do with it yet.”

“Why did you ask me here then?” Robin replied looking away with an eyes role. “This was not as productive as I hoped it would be?”

“I asked you here because I wanted to talk,” the billionaire said a little defeated. “I guess I’m not very good at it after all?”

“Bruce, I’m…” The former sidekick sighed, “sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I never wanted to talk when you were a boy. Maybe I’m too late?” Bruce stood up and buttoned his suit coat.  “And Dick,” Robin looked up with his foggy eyes that had taken on a stormier blue, “I know you probably think all this makes you an incompetent leader, but it doesn’t, it will make you a better one.”

Robin found himself lost among the many fragments and at a loss for words. By the time he’d found them, Bruce was already out the door with the envelope in hand. He thought of going after him, but was interrupted by the waitress who finally showed up, chewing her gum like a cow.

“So what can I get ya today hun?” She mumbled ignorantly.

Robin looked up at her as though she’d just asked him a ridiculous question. She snapped her gum and looked down at him as if he were too defective to understand.

“Can I just get a black coffee to go please?” Robin finally said a little lost.

“That it hun?”

“Yeah thanks.”

The waitress smiled impersonally and told him to wait a minute then walked away, leaving him to his thoughts. The truth was he did feel incompetent, but he tried to hide it deep beneath his surface. It didn’t surprise him that Bruce could see such insecurity, he actually expected it. But he was worried that his team saw it too, and what they’d think if they did. Would they see him as weak or even feeble for his actions, better yet, what did Raven think? She had to have seen it piercing the surface of his eyes and pressing itself deep into her empathy, but she never said anything.

She never said much about the different, parts of him. She just took them as pieces of the puzzle and together they made him who he was. She never used his weak points or shied away from his dark ones. She just let him be who he was. 

“Here ya go hun,” The waitress said, putting the cup down on the table. “You’re all set, that rich guy took care of the bill for ya.”

Robin muttered a thank you and gave her a meager smile. Once she left, he placed a five dollar bill on the table, feeling bad for taking up her table for the likes of a black coffee.

When he arrived at the hospital, Robin wasn’t quite ready to go in. Instead he sat outside and waited for his mind to clear. He knew if he showed up with defeat heavy on his mind, Raven would notice and he didn’t want to burden her with his lack of clarity.

The hospital entrance was quite today with little hustle and bustle. Just a few people coming and going with seemingly little on their minds. As Robin began to reach the bottom of his coffee a young man sat down a few feet from him. He was tall, but not quite taller than him with dark hair and a rough appearance. In truth, Robin probably wouldn’t have even noticed him if he’d not seen the young man retrieve a pack Marlboro Reds from his black jacket.  Robin watched as he packed the small carton and removed the wrapper (the whole time debating whether to enforce the “ _no smoking on hospital grounds”_  rule or just let this one slide).

“Hey man you want one?” The young man asked, motioning the pack towards Robin.

“No I’m good, thanks.” Robin replied, watching the dark haired boy remove a cigarette from the left corner and turn it so its filter was facing down.

“Ok cool. Mind if I—”

“Sure, why the hell not?” Robin said cutting him off.

The boy shrugged and nodded pushing his bottom lip out like dog. “So this your first session?” he questioned, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag.

“Oh, no… I’m not here for me. I’m just visiting a friend.” Robin replied, looking down.

The boy’s eyes widened with realization as he said, “Oh god, I’m sorry man that’s rough. I hope your friend’s ok.”

“She is,” Robin smiled weakly, “she’s pretty tough, but I still worry about her.”

“Yeah that’s normal, getting locked up is tough.” The young man replied taking another drag. “And it’s not easy for the people on the outside either.”

Robin only looked at the young man puffing away on his cigarette. He talked about it as though Raven were in prison, like she was some sort of caged animal. He wasn’t even sure why he was telling him all this, but there was just something about him that seemed familiar.

“Have you considered maybe talking to someone?” The nameless boy asked.

“No, not really. I was kinda taught not to.”

“Yeah I know what that’s like. I’m Eric by the way.” He said finally introducing himself.

Robin reached out and took the young man’s hand and shook it, “I’m Richard, but you can just call me Dick.”

“Ok cool, so who’s your friend seeing?”

“Dr. Graves.”

Eric let out a small snort, shooting smoke from his nose, “That’s such as shitty name for someone working with suicidal people.”

Robin involuntarily laughed, partially out of shock at how brazen his statement was. “Yeah I never thought of it that way, but it is an ironically grim. But knowing Raven she probably really enjoys that.”

“Wait, What?” Eric asked a little shocked. “Did you say,  _Raven_?”

Robin looked at the young man for a moment puzzled, but then instantly realized with whom he was speaking. “FFFuuck,” he stammered in disbelief, “for real?”

“Raven tried to…” Eric began in disbelief.

“I can’t believe the day I am having.” Robin said painfully, deep loathing dripping from his voice.

“Is she ok?”

“What the hell do you care?” Robin replied, getting up to walk away. Eric quickly reached out and pulled Robin back as he was not finished with him. “Get your fucking hand off me.” Robin sneered, trying to keep his head, but hardly succeeding. 

“You didn’t answer me.” Eric replied numbly.

“I don’t have to,” Robin hissed. “Now, get your hand off before I break it.”

“I wanna see her.”

Robin’s eyes filled with range as the last few straws finally broke, making him blind. “You son of a—”

“Richard! Robin heard echo behind him, “what hell is going on here?”

He turned to find Bruce who now stood at the hospital steps, nearly tapping his foot in disapproval.  _Of course he picks now to show up,_  Robin thought bitterly, gritting his teeth. “It’s your lucky day.” He  said with an arrogant smile.

Robin began to walk away when he heard Eric say, “Hey, I meant it. I wanna see her.”

Robin rolled his eyes and shook his head,  _“_ Do you have a death wish?”

The boy shook his head, “No, I just want to see her, that’s all.”

“That’s not gonna happen.” Robin said arms crossed.

“Please, I just—”

“No!” He finally snapped.

“Richard!” Bruce called moving toward the two.

Robin looked back and muttered an obscenity under his breath, “Listen Eric, you’ve caused enough damage. Now I’m not gonna let you anywhere near Raven, and if you even as much think about trying, I will personally make you regret the day you ever put ink to paper.”

Just as Robin finished his sentence, he could hear Bruce approach. “Richard what are you doing?”

Robin looked back at the boy who’s gray eyes held heavy anguish, “I’m doing everything you taught me to,” he said softly, but confident, “I’m protecting my family.”

Bruce looked over at Eric unsure of what he’d just witnessed. Robin’s words still lingered, hitting him in a way that made him both proud and resentful. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“No. We’re done here.”

Robin began to walk away, but stopped when he heard Eric’s voice one last time, “I just need to know if this is... if this is my fault.”

Bruce looked up at both boys shocked as Robin didn’t turn to face either one of them. “It’s not Eric, so don’t worry. You can sleep without that burden keeping you awake at night.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, he just remained silent, knowing there was something deeper to his son’s words.

“How do you it’s not?” Eric questioned urgently.

Robin turned this time, reveling a dark storminess swelling in his eyes and a coldness that was even chilling for Bruce to see. “Because it’s mine. I pushed her. It’s my fault.”

Bruce walked down the long hallway, its stale, white color harsh on his eyes and as cold as ever. He’d once again taken the liberty of visiting Dr. Graves without an appointment, mostly to drive the woman at the front desk a little mad.

“Oh, not you again.” She sighed, flailing her long, poorly painted nails about like some trashy bar maid.

“Nice to see you too, Marge.” Bruce replied a little weary.

“Uhh,” she grunted painfully, “who are you here for, Graves or the awful blonde with the  _jarring_  voice?”

“You really hate this job don’t you?” Bruce asked just short of rolling his eyes.

“I deal with people like you all day, what’d ya think?”

“I’ll go with the ladder on this one.” Bruce replied off put. “Dr. Graves if he’s in?”

Marge picked up the phone and sarcastically replied, “I’ll tell him you’re here to grace him with your presence. God my retirement can’t come soon enough.”

_God that woman is unpleasant,_  Bruce thought still shocked at how someone could be that bitter and still hold a job.

When he approached Dr. Graves’ office, he found the door open with the young doctor standing at his desk, filing papers and talking on the phone.

“Yeah, I get that, but I can’t get out of here until about five.” The man said, noticing Bruce and motioning him to come in. “Um… then just get her from school and I’ll figure something out, Ok?... Ok good… and oh, don’t let her play on the iPad all day… ok good, bye.” Dr. Graves concluded and put the phone on the hook. “Sorry about that Mr. Wayne, my baby sitter needs to duck out early tonight and…”

“No need to apologize,” Bruce urged, “you have children?”

“Yes, a daughter. She’s 4 almost 5.” He smiled, letting a little pride free from its confines.

“So I take it you’re a single father?”  Bruce asked, taking a seat across from the good doctor (though it was more of a statement than a question).

“Yes, it’s a bit of a challenge, but I manage. You must understand that?”

“Yes, I do.” Bruce replied genuinely knowing the struggles of taking responsibility to raise a young mind. “It’s not easy, I’m lucky I had the help I did with Richard, but I have to say it’s the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.”

The man smiled and leaned back in his chair. A wary look began to fix itself to his face and it became clear he was becoming aware of Bruce’s nature. “You didn’t come here to talk about parenting now did you Mr. Wayne?”

“No, I did not.” Bruce responded, letting his tone sink into his dark place. “Raven is very important to Dick and because of that, she is  _very_ important to me. I was told something by one of your colleagues that brought up some  _concerns_  and I need to address them.”

“What’d she tell you?” The doctor asked with a cold drawl.

“I think you know. Now I’m only going to ask you this once. Are you, or are you not using narcotics?”

“Uh,” Dr. Graves laughed with annoyance, “Really Mr. Wayne? You got a lota’ nerve,” he said as he stood up and shook his head.

“It’s a simple question, yes or no?”

“Do I look high to you? Am I disorientated or slurring my words, do my eyes even look glassy?” The doctor asked defensively, to which Bruce didn’t respond.  “I didn’t think so. I don’t know what Harley told you, but she played you just like she plays everyone.”

“Then why did you check into a rehab four years ago?” Bruce’s said in a grim tone.

Dr. Graves immediately stopped what he was doing, shock wide in his eyes, “What—how do you—”

“You were practicing at time.” Bruce Continued, making it clear he had the upper hand.

“Who told you that—did Harley?”

“No, I had someone look into you.”

“Who the hell do you think you are, Batman?” Dr. Graves exclaimed in disapproval.

Surprised, Bruce had to suppress the urge to let a small shit eating grin stretch across his face, but succeeded in keeping his stoic face intact. (Though it was hard to do so.) “Explain yourself.”

The doctor’s face hardened, “Who are you to judge me? You have no idea what my life’s been like or what I’ve had to deal with. It’s a mistake I can’t undo; I take responsibility for that, that’s why I checked myself into rehab—to keep a handle on it.”

“And do you have a handle on it?” Bruce questioned coldly.

“Yes I do.”

“Good,” Bruce replied in a dark tone, “I believe you.”

The doctor furrowed his brow in frustration, “You’re a boarder-line psychopath.”

Bruce was hardly fazed by the insult, as it wasn’t the first time he’d been called such a thing. “I can see why you’d feel that way, but—”

“No,” The doctor interrupted, “that’s my professional opinion. _You are_ a boarder-line psychopath with both trust and control issues, most likely stemming from some deep seeded childhood trauma. You may even have a boarder liner personality disorder?”

_Damn,_  was all that came to Bruce’s mind. He looked back at the doctor in shock at how accurate his diagnosis was. Bruce himself had realized years ago that he had psychopathic tendencies; it was what drove his obsessions and kept him tied to his disciplines.

As a child he often felt helpless, especially after having to watch his parents die. The thought of ‘ _maybe if I’d just…’_  always plagued his mind, even as an adult. Snippets still played like old movies, torn by time and worn from over play. He learned not to trusted people early on in life and still had a bad habit of not wanting people to walk behind him (something he’d never told anyone, not even Alfred).

The truth was, deep down, he was still that little boy, alone and traumatized in that dark alley way. He was tied to it, and there was no amount of confidence, or training, or even victory that could remove it. It was devastatingly the core of who he was, even if he told himself it wasn’t.

“Fair enough, but I can assure you that I’m not a psychopath.”

“No, but you are a hair or two off Mr. Wayne. You should consider getting help, it would help your relationship with your son.” The doctor replied in a removed voice as though he were talking directly to that little boy.

Bruce remained silent, unwilling to discuss the matter any further. Not that he didn’t somewhat agree with Dr. Graves, he did, but his intensions were set for the wellbeing of others. He knew very well what the young doctor had been through and to a degree he couldn’t blame him for taking a path of self-medication. But he also needed to be held to a higher stander because of his profession. Bruce needed to see that part of his life was over and he suspected it was, but he needed to see it for himself.

“Doctor, I apologies for this intrusion, I know it was extremely inappropriate of me, but you must understand I only did it out of concern for Raven and others.”

Dr. Graves looked at Bruce coldly, trying to read his sincerity, “Don’t apologize for something you’re not genuinely sorry about. If you think your actions of justified then at least stand by them.”

“You’re right. I’m not sorry,” Bruce replied stoically. “I’m just trying to protect my family.”

The doctor gave a slight nod of understanding and sat down in his chair. “Listen Mr. Wayne, I’m really good at my job. I may have made some stupid mistakes, but I’m not sorry I made them. To be honest, those mistakes made me who I am, and that’s why I’m good at my job. I don’t expect you to trust me, but I expect you to understand that.”

“Fair enough,” Bruce replied, raising the manila envelope and pointed it in the doctor’s direction. “I found something I think you should look at.”

“What is it?” he asked warily, hoping it wasn’t another surprise.

“See for yourself”

Dr. Graves leaned back, once again creasing his brow with suspicion. Bruce nodded and gestured his hand as though conducting the young doctor to open the envelope.

Dr. Graves pulled back the fold and removed a thin stack of white papers littered with black print. He took his eyes off the billionaire and read the fine letters. Moments later the doctor’s eyes flared, revealing he’d made a discovery. “Is this what I think it is?” Dr. Graves asked a little taken back by the information he’d just read.

“Yes, but I don’t really know how to go about it at the moment.” Bruce’s replied dully.

Dr. Graves placed the pages down on his desk and looked at them questionably. After a moment he looked back up at Bruce, almost at a loss for words. “You have to tell her, she needs to know.” He said finally.

Bruce’s exhaled, revealing his torn nature, “I know, but I’m concerned that maybe something like this should wait until she is in a more  _stable_  state of mind?”

The doctor tapped his fingertips on his desk as a blank look filled his face, “You’re right, it’s probably for the best to wait until she’s home to tell her this, then she can make the decision that’s  _right for her._ ”

“Alright, then that’s what we’ll do,” Bruce said rising from his chair, “and thank you again for your time doctor.”

Dr. Graves reluctantly shook the billionaire’s hand, still a little apprehensive. He picked up the papers and handed them over to Bruce, but he refused to take them.

“No, you keep those. I’m leaving for Gotham tonight so they are of no use to me.”

The doctor frowned in confusion. “Well, I’m really not the right person to tell her this when the time comes. It should be someone she considers  _family._ ”

“Yes, and when that time comes you’ll know who to give that information to _. I’m trusting you to_.”

“So you trust me know?” the doctor patronized.

“Well, I trust you more than Ms. Quinzel.” Bruce added with reason, knowing the pretty blonde had other motives.

The doctor cracked a sarcastic smile, “You know that’s not really a compliment, right?”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“I thought so.” Dr. Graves rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Well, have a safe trip back to Gotham—oh and if you take Harley out on another date just be careful, you might end up with a knife in your back. Just a little advice.”

Bruce laughed a bit and turned from the door. “I kind of got that feeling, but thanks for the warning. And just for the record, I wasn’t aware she was your ex.”

The doctor shrugged, “She an ex for a reason, don’t worry about it. But if I were you I’d take my own advice and  _look behind you.”_

Bruce smiled warily, remembering the conversation the two men had just the previous day. “I’ll do that Dr. Graves, you be sure to do the same.”

“It’s what people like us do best.”

Bruce nodded in understanding and opened the door, finally bidding the young doctor goodbye.

His thoughts filled with old questions he used to ask himself years ago as he found himself in the cold silence of the hallway. He looked at how much, yet how little he’d changed over the years. In some ways he was so different, yet oddly the same. He’d never been good with change and didn’t welcome it unless it was necessary.

He thought back to that fateful night, to the one moment that would defy him forever. Coldness ran through his veins and he felt his fist clench in revolt. It was something he could never forget, and in a way never forgive. But there was a bitter sweet taste to it that he hated to think about, the fact that their deaths’ brought so much good. Through him they’d helped save countless lives and in that thought he knew he was meant to become Batman and that his parents were in deed destined to die.

His jaw tightened as the taste swelled on his tongue bitterly. He entered the elevator and pushed the thought down in his dark place where it would unknowingly drive him in every part of his life. This is why he hated change so much, the fact it could swallow you whole and scar you to the core.

He tried to reflect on who he’d become and in some ways didn’t become. Instances of the cruelty change had brought to his life spun and weaved in his head, until he came to one that had truly been for the better.

In Robin he’d gained not only a son, but someone he could truly trust and it appeared that he’d now gained a peer. Bruce may have never admitted it, but he’d learned a lot from Robin. He had a way of adapting and learning from his experiences in a way Bruce couldn’t do. He had a  _need_  for people and trusting them that gave him the foundation for leadership and someone Bruce could respect.

Bruce’s only regret was that he didn’t show this respect and that he wasn’t as trusting in Robin as Robin was in him. Deep down, Bruce knew he’d driven him away, not wanting to see that things really do change no matter how hard he tried to preserve them. Robin was becoming who he needed to become and as much as Bruce didn’t want to see it, he was only holding him back.

The door finally slid open and Bruce quickly pulled on his mask, becoming the charmingly arrogant billionaire  _Bruce Wayne_. He stepped out of the elevator, leaving behind the burden of his thoughts as much as his ego would allow. He had to be stronger now as it was his job to be. He had to show the world that breaking wasn’t an option, at least not for him.

**Journal Entry #19 In Spite of You:**

Sometimes I think we forget that people deal with things differently. Some of us choose to suffer in silence and others choose to suffer aloud with those they are closest to. Some of us fall apart, while others just can’t bare the pain of having to put the pieces back together. There are so many ways to cope with the pain that’s burning inside of us, but it’s our character that determines how we deal with it. Even how we grow from it.

I’ve spent most of my life running from who I am, making excuses and refusing to see what was right in front of me. I’ve let others tell me how to cope and experience life, even though it was not theirs to live. I believed them when they told me I would do unspeakable things, and I believed them when they said I wouldn’t live to see the age I am now. I know they were only trying to warn me and that their intensions, (disturbingly enough) were in the right place. However, their doubts and lack of faith in me had its repercussions. I wasn’t allowed to feel my own emotions and I had to learn to settle for something bland and tasteless. For sixteen years my life was not my own, it belonged to those who told me I’d die young and die alone. But what makes this so bitter, is that I believed them.

Now I know that in my case they had every right to fear me and my inevitable future. My father will always be a part of me, he’s part of my biology, but he doesn’t have to control me if I choose not to let him.

It’s funny how long it took for me to learn that and only after one of the lowest points in my life. But it’s like Bruce said, _“It’s not how we fall, it’s how we get back up that defies us.”_ I can’t even count how many times I’ve heard Richard say that to me and the rest of the team, but to hear it straight from the Bat’s mouth made me see how much alike they are, yet so different.

It was earlier today Bruce came to visit me one last time before heading back to Gotham. I had just finished with a group session where we discussed not letting other people take away our sense of agency. I of course really wanted nothing to do with the group discussion, but apparently our counselor didn’t feel the same. 

“Now Raven, why don’t you tell us how you’ve let other people influence your decisions.” Said the overly cheery man we refer to as _Teletubby Terry_ , on account of his need to make everyone feel included (even when we don’t wanna be).

“Well I don’t really let other people influence my decisions. I kinda do my own thing.” I replied with crossed arms and annoyance.

“Well we can see that, but there has to have been at least one instance where you’ve let others make decisions for you.”

I replied _no_ , but I could think of a whole grocery list of things I could’ve shared, but just didn’t want to. “

“Come on Violet, there’s gotta be something?” Jack asked. Not because he cared, but because he just wanted to hear me tell a story where I let someone get the better of me. “You’ve probably jumped off the metaphorical bridge at least once.”

“No, but on the off chance I do decide to follow a bunch of people off the ‘metaphorical’ bridge, I’ll wait to go last, that way I’ll have a cushion of bodies to break my fall.”

Jack of course laughed at this and he was of course the only one… Terry seemed a bit disturbed by the analogy and wrote something I’m assuming was not very favorable in his notes. The rest of the group looked at me well, like a crazy person. (Like I was the only one?) I however, stand by my statement, I thought it was _clever._

“Raven there has to be something.” Terry said welcomingly.  “Plus… I wouldn’t want to have to tell Dr. G that you aren’t participating in group.” He urged in a patronizing tone.

I rolled my eyes and gowned, knowing he had my number, but there’s really only so much I can literally share. So I went with something I thought was harmless.

“Ok, when I was a little girl, I grew up in a very religious home. I wasn’t allowed to really make any decisions for myself and I lived by a very strict _code_. One of the things I was not allowed to do was cut my hair. In my ‘ _religion_ ’ hair is believed to represent wisdom and is directly linked to our life spans.”

This is of course where everyone looked at me like I was (once again) crazy, including Teletubby Terry. “It’s an alternative religion.” I added, but somehow I get the feeling everyone thought I was brought up in a cult, oh wait, _I was_.

Anyhow, I continued my little tale of how I _really_ wasn’t allowed to cut my hair, because it was “the way.” Both man and woman in Azarath wore their hair long and it was frowned upon to cut it for two reasons. One; it represented our lives and its stages, which represent our wisdom. And two; cutting one’s hair was considered a vanity and that went against our passive beliefs. We were taught that vanity promoted jealousy and jealously promoted aggressive behavior among other things.  It was because of this I was taught not to put any weight in appearance and for the most part I don’t. I know that bad things come in beautiful packages. That’s just the way nature works, but like everything else in nature I have to learn to coexist with it.

“So anyway when I left home and came to Jump, the first thing I did was cut my hair.” I said, finishing my story.

“That’s actually really powerful Raven.” Terry replied to my surprise.

“Not really, it was actually a really bad cut now that I think about it.”

“I agree,” Nora added, “your hair represented your oppression and the fact that you weren’t allowed to make your own decisions. Cutting your hair was the first real decisions you ever made.”

Sadly enough, Nora was right, cutting my hair was the first real decision I ever made, but I made it because I wasn’t supposed to do it. Not because I thought it would liberate me. It was something harmless that wouldn’t hurt me or anyone else. It wasn’t a protest or a statement, and it didn’t change anything because in the end, it was simply just hair.

After the session we all went back to our supervised lives and seemingly meaningless tasks. Jack began his daily harassment of the hospital staff and Nora began to complain about how horrible she must have looked (which she does only to be reassured that she’s still  _pretty_ ). I of course began to make my way to my window to stare aloofly into the distance for a good part of the day, Nora following close behind.

“Uh,” She sighed, “If I look anything like I feel then—”

“Nora stop, you look fine.” I interrupted, not wanting her to carry on about her vanity.

“You always say that, but I find it really hard to believe you.” Nora replied, trying to brush it off as if my opinion didn’t matter, but it did.

“Seriously, every man that walks through that door can’t help but stare at you, you’re tragically pretty.” And she was. I’ve even caught Richard giving her a look every now and then.

“Tragically?”

“Yes, because it’s a tragedy that someone as beautiful as you doesn’t believe that they are.”

Now, normally I wouldn’t pay any attention to this kind of behavior, but I make an exception for Nora. Her entire life has been built around her being a  _pretty girl_  and because of that no one has ever tried to know as anything more. All she’s ever been in the world is a pretty face and now that she’s in her 30’s and  _insists_  she’s _“losing her looks,”_ she feels worthless.

In Nora’s case her entire life has been about vanity, whether it about work or love, her beauty was always at the forefront. That’s why she thinks  _cutting_  my hair was such a triumph, because for her it was a statement and a powerful one. But it’s one she’ll never make for herself, because if she isn’t _pretty_ then she’s nothing. And I just wish I could make her see passed that.

I remember one day she was telling me about her days as a dancer and a model. Her life was filled with glamour in a world that was skin deep and unforgiving. She talked about it with a sense of superiority, especially when she told horrifying stories about the things casting directors and photographers would make girls do. I asked if she’d ever had to do any of those things and she just replied, “No.” Her reason being that she was always the mistress of a  _well-known somebody_  therefore she  _didn’t_  have to.

I once asked her how her career got started to which she replied, “I fucked the director of the company I was dancing for so I’d get the lead in a ballet. That’s what all the other girls were doing.”

I was both shocked and horrified, but which I was more consumed with I couldn’t tell you. Part of me was disgusted that she would do such a thing, but she didn’t seemed to care. She’d said it as though it were nothing, like it was something she told everyone, but she didn’t, she only told me. Maybe it was because she knew I had no right to judge her because I had my own set of demons. Maybe she thought she was better than me, or maybe she just wanted to tell someone the truth. This is just another reason why girls like Nora are tragically pretty because to some people they are merely commodities and Nora’s not the only one with a story like that.

It was at this point the door opened and a few people entered. Visiting hours had begun and slowly one by one, parents and friends began to cross the threshold, bringing with them remnants of the outside world. Nora, as usual waited with me, trying to hide the fact that her eyes would occasionally wander to the door, secretly hoping to find a familiar face. It breaks my heart to see her do this for several reasons. One, I know no one is coming for her and two, it’s best they don’t. The people from Nora’s passed are toxic and if they cared anything for her they’d have shown up by now.  Still, it’s hard to know that she doesn’t have anyone and it makes me grateful I do.

“You know Nora, I think when we both get out of this place you should meet my friend Kory, she’d really like you.” I said, trying to remove her focus from the door. 

Nora simply smiled, realizing I knew how she felt and that I actually cared, “Thanks Raven.”

It wasn’t long after our conversation that I noticed a familiar face standing in the doorway and it was one I didn’t really expect.

“What’s Bruce Wayne doing here?” Nora said crassly, but intrigued.

“You know him?”

“Only from a far. We’ve been to some of the same parties.” She replied in a nonchalant tone. “He’s actually quite entertaining when the campaign starts flowing.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Bruce began to walk in my direction when he spotted me with Nora, to her surprise. “Why is he coming over here?”

“Because we know each other.”

“How…” Nora asked with suspicion.

“He’s Richard’s father.”

“Oh, that makes more sense than.” Nora said pulling her mind from the gutter. “Wait, Bruce Wayne has a kid?”

“Adoptive,” I said, rolling my eyes at her, aware her train of thought was simply a symptom of the world she comes from. But everything isn’t as _skin deep_ as she thinks it is.

“Good Morning Raven, how are you today?” Bruce asked once he’d reached the table.

“Um… I’m good I guess. The food still sucks though,” I replied in my typical tone. “Bruce, this is Nora, she’s also trapped here.”

“Nice to meet you Nora.” Bruce said and held his hand out for her to shake.

Nora smiled, putting on her  _‘I’m pretty girl’_  act, but with more feeling as she was in the company of  _very_  rich man. “It’s lovely to finally meet you Mr. Wayne. How are things in Gotham?”

“Um… they’re good. Do we know each other?”

“Oh no, but we know some of the same people. I’m Nora Adore; I danced for the Gotham Ballet a few years back.” Nora said in a husky voice. (Side note: Nora’s real name is Nora Lechmanski.)

“Oh yes, I remember you now. You were quite the dancer.” Bruce replied. “Didn’t you accompany Randolph LaFlure to my New Year’s Eve party one year?”

“Yes… that was unfortunately me…” 

“Hey Nora, why don’t you get lost for a while?” I said trying to point her attention to elsewhere.

She looked at me at and raised a brow, but understood that it wasn’t personal. I just needed some time to talk to Bruce.

Nora excused herself. But not before telling Bruce how lovely it was to meet him then gave him a look a hungry house cat would give, waiting to be fed.

“Well she seems… nice?” Bruce said watching Nora walk away.

I rolled my eyes, realizing that even Bruce isn’t immune to her beauty, but hey who really is?

“Yeah she’s amusing I guess.” I said as Bruce took a seat across from me. “So what did you really come here for?”

“Like I said, to see how you are.”

“I’m better, still miss placed, but better.” I said with sincerity. “I didn’t tell Richard you came to see me.”

The man let an awkward smile curl along his face, “Well he kind of found out on his own.”

I looked over at him and raised an eye brow in curiosity. “And how did that happened?”

“I was in lobby waiting for my date when Richard was exiting the elevator.”

“Did he make a scene?”

“Yes.”

“And I missed it.” I snickered, but wasn’t really joking. I personally would have loved to be a fly on the wall for that exchange. I mean seriously, that would be entraining. “So I take it you two talked about some things?”

“More or less, but in time I think we can bury the hatchet.”

“Well that’s good. I hope you can both move on.”

Bruce smiled and looked out the window as though he were searching for the same thing I’ve been looking for every time peered through it. “You know, I always admired how resilient he was. He always had a way of picking himself up.”

I looked up at Bruce a little stunned. I didn’t expect him to sound so unguarded. He quickly realized how much he’d revealed and buried it deep beneath his mask. However there was still a slight look in his eyes that he couldn’t quite tame. It was distant and reminiscent of things he’d nearly forgotten, but just couldn’t let go of.

“Bruce, what was he like as a kid?”

Bruce smiled at the question in a fatherly manner, filling his distant eyes with pride. “He was happy, even after the loss of his parents.” Bruce looked away a moment and to the window again. “Don’t get me wrong, he had his time of mourning, but he dealt with it a lot better than I did.” Bruce said in a rough tone, a hint of regret trapped in his words.

“How so?”

“He never stopped hoping, he just refused to see the world for as cold as it felt. I on the other hand let that coldness chill me straight to the bone.”

I could never picture Bruce as a child. He has no child-like qualities and it was clear that the warmth of childhood died in him many years ago. Even his words chilled me, being void of warmth and echoed of a broken little boy, but that was all he took from those years.

“I guess some of us break harder than others.” I said emoting very little.

“I can’t break Raven,” Bruce said looking back at me, “If I did, I wouldn’t be able to put myself back together again.” A sadness crept into his eyes without his knowing and I could tell it hadn’t appeared in them for a long time.

I looked back at him, and even though I still held a lot of admiration for him, I could see he and I actually had something in common, being broken. I once felt the same way he did, that if I were to break I’d never put myself back together, but I now realize that I was just born broken. My entire life had been spent trying to hide those cracks and making the world think I was whole. But in truth, I just felt like life was killing me.

“I was broken once, and it made me who I am. I worked hard to put myself back together, to make myself the person I needed to become. If I fall apart now, I’d never be able to do it again.” Bruce said stoically.

I looked ahead as though trying to see something that was not quite there. The honesty Bruce spoke had a heaviness to it that rested on my chest, making my heart tightened with sympathy at how hard it must’ve been to be so strong. This was something Richard once told me he hated about Bruce, his inability to break and be unguarded. He told me how hard it was because there were times where Bruce should have broken, but he didn’t. Richard’s greatest fear was that one day he would break, and like Bruce, he feared the damage would be permanent and deep. That he’d just be too fractured and his sanity would be lost.

This was something Richard couldn’t understand because he could do something both Bruce and I couldn’t. He could break, and when he did, he could recover and be stronger for it.

This is a quality that both Bruce and I don’t possess and it’s one we envy. We’ve both watched Richard lose everything, his sanity, pride, even his sense of self, but never the core of who he was. There was something resilient about him, something that made him a leader and we envied it. For years Richard thought that Bruce looked down at him, but in reality I could see Bruce only wanted Richard to think he was strong, he didn’t want him to see that little boy.

I looked up at Bruce with a bold look in my eyes, and a bold question taking form on my lips, “When your parents died, did the world ended?”

He closed his eyes a moment, as though trying to hide, “Yes, and it never quite began again,” he replied. “I tried to carry on as if nothing happened, but it just didn’t fit right and I could never get passed their deaths’. The truth is, a part of me died that day, and it filled me with a darkness that could never be lifted. Over time I’ve learned to cope with it, but it will always be there in spite of me.”

His words where serrated and sharp, being composed of truths he’d never spoken before. They were reflective of the shadows of my own truths, the things that make me who I am. Everything to the sweetest moments, to the most bitter of memories. The parts of me that have died and even the things my body remembers that my mind cannot.

It’s in this particular darkness that we find an understanding and it’s this nature that makes us who we are.

“I’m sorry you have to carry those scars.” I said finally, finding a configuration of words that showed my deepest understanding.

Bruce just shrugged and let his voice carry on once more, “Emotional scars are a lot like physical ones. They change our surface and alter who we become. They can make use more durable or, they can harden us. It’s all in how we look at them.”

I Peered down at my wrists, then cover by the black sleeves of my sweater. Beneath the black fabric lay the scars of both my physical and emotional failures. Each one marked another day I thought couldn’t live, or a time I was told I couldn’t cry. They marked each part of me that died and every breath that threatened to kill me. Yet they reminded me that I was alive, that I was human and I could be broken just as any other. But they never took me from this bitter place, they just weren’t meant to.

I looked back up at Bruce as I felt deep spite fill my heart and push up into my throat. This feeling is a hard one to swallow as it’s bitter in nature. It thrives on my weaknesses and pain, driving my cruelest of actions. It lives in my flesh, and the bones I drape from. It’s buried in the parts of my mind where instinct is born and my actions have no thought. And it’s all in spite of who I am. It’s part of what makes me who I am. So how do I overcome that? How do I break that chain?

“I guess for some of us it’s not how we _fall,_ but _how hard_ we hit the bottom that matters?” I said absently.

Bruce tilted his head, realizing I’d just taken his own words and twisted them to meet my despair. “Hum, that’s not quite how I remember that statement, but it’s not entirely incorrect,” he said. “You and I both know how hard we break can make us who we are, but  _you_ still have to get back up.”

“But you said-”

“I said if ‘ _I broke_.’ You can still put yourself back together Raven, you’re strong enough to.” His eyes filled with sternness as though I were not allowed to think I could remain broken forever.

“You sound like Richard.”

“Good, that means he was paying attention. I see he’s been quoting me.”

I smiled and thought of the times he told us all the things Bruce used to say. “Yeah, you really did play an important role in his life. He does think very highly of you, even if he doesn’t show it.” 

“He has a funny way of showing it nowadays,” Bruce replied, “but I think that has something to do with my inability to see him as adult.”

I was surprised by the statement and fact that Bruce was willing to admit he felt that way. It was something that harbored a lot of frustration in Richard. That the man he admired most didn’t see him as anything more than a boy. I could see it wasn’t out of disrespect, but more in the way a parent sees their own child. It was hard for him to come to grips with the fact that Richard was no longer a boy, but a man. And for Bruce, there would always be a part of him that saw Richard as the son he never had. And in that vision Richard would always remain somewhat of a child, even if not in his own mind.

“Well then, I guess  _rue suits you_  Bruce?” I said letting pieces of old tragedies fill the void of both our regrets.

“As it does you, Raven.” He replied wearily. A bitter sweet sound left his voice fragmented and dull in places. There were always going to be things we could never change in ourselves and in others. I will always be the daughter of a creature I detest and he will always be a part of me. Bruce will remain the shattered reflection of that little boy still trying to find his way out of a dark ally. And in his mind, Richard will always remain that optimistic boy who refuses to be seen as a child.

In life everything changes and we change with it. We become both softened and scared over the course of our lives, but there are always pieces of us that remain the same. There will always be parts of us that will never change, parts that weren’t meant to. And no matter how many times we bend or break, they remain intact. They rest at the core of who we are and are shaped by interventions of both tragedy and fortune. We find weakness and even strength if we allow it, and most of all—we learn from it. We shape ourselves from it. But if we can’t accept what we are, then we have nothing to gain from it. 


	21. Silent all these Years

 

 

 

 

> _Years go by_  
>  _Will I still be waiting_  
>  _For somebody else to understand_  
>  _Years go by_  
>  _If I'm stripped of my beauty_  
>  _And the orange clouds_  
>  _Raining in head_  
>  _Years go by_  
>  _Will I choke on my tears_  
>  _Till finally there is nothing left_  
>  _One more casualty_  
>  _You know we're too easy Easy Easy_
> 
> _—Tori Amos_

Robin entered the hospital lobby with an air of frustration wrapped tightly around him. He'd left Bruce outside, reluctant to look back at him, feeling little regard for his mentor's pride.

Still, he knew he had to calm down, his present state being quite overwhelming and hard to contain. But it seemed his anger was too big a muse to ignore. He stepped into the elevator and leaned against the wall with discontent. He just wanted to let his knees buckle and fall weak with fury beneath him. He'd been containing so much raw, unbearable emotion that it began to wear thin on him, making it hard to breath. But still he stood tall, keeping his head high and placing his _mask_ on as to not show anyone how deep his cracks ran. Breaking could wait.

The door slid shut and for the moment Robin was alone. Free of Bruce and his overbearing nature, harping at him to make the right decisions, but more importantly he was free of Eric.

 _'I can't believe that guy,_ _'_ Robin thought bitterly _, 'how selfish can he possibly be?'_

He shook his head in disapproval at the young man's conduct. He'd shamelessly broken Raven's heart and unknowingly driven her away from him and he'd never forgive him for that. Robin never told her how jealous he was and in truth, he'd never admitted it to himself, but he was.

However, what frustrated him to no end was Eric's self-seeking insistence to see her. He had no right to and as far as Robin was concerned it would be destructive to allow.

"Like hell he is, over my dead body," he spat rabidly under his breath to no audience.

However, within moments the elevator door slid open and Robin soon noticed a familiar face appear from behind it.

"Hey Dr. Graves," he said voidly, the man looking surprised to see him.

"Hello Richard, you here for Raven?" the doctor asked pushing the button for his desired floor.

Robin nodded, clearly tied up in his head. The door closed and the slight jolt of the elevator could be felt beneath them. The atmosphere grew awkward as Robin stared lifelessly at the door, his chill nearly making the doctor cold by association.

"Richard, are you all right? You seem very overwhelmed," Dr. Graves said inquisitively.

"I'm fine, I'm just tired is all," Robin replied trying to brush the question off.

The doctor looked at him skeptically, though he could see the boy truly was exhausted, but there was more to it than that. "You know Richard, we have a support group for people in your situation. If you're interested I can get you some information?"

Robin crossed his arms and shook his head at the doctor's clinical nature, "I don't think talking to a bunch of strangers will help."

"Well, you should probably talk to someone," Dr. Graves added as the door slowly opened for his floor, "it's not healthy to keep yourself so locked up."

Robin looked up with a defeated looked, knowing the young doctor was right and for a moment forgot himself. "I know, usually I'd talk to Raven about things like this, but… I can't burden her with my problems, not now."

Dr. Graves felt his empathy bend at the statement, seeing just how much Robin was hurting. The experience had begun to wear thin on him like it did most people at the forefront.

"You can talk to me," he said before leaving the elevator.

Robin creased his brow in apprehension, taken off guard, "What?"

"Listen Richard, I understand what you're going through and even though I can't treat you. I can still council you and make a recommendation for a therapist if you think you need one."

Robin didn't say anything for a moment, too wrapped up in his nature not to trust outsiders with personal matters. Still, he was grateful to Dr. Graves for the offer, knowing he didn't have to.

"I don't think I need a therapist," Robin finally replied.

"I didn't say you did, but if you feel you need one I can help you find one," Dr. Graves reasoned wisely and walked to the door. "What you are feeling is perfectly normal and there is no shame in admitting that you don't know how to handle it."

Dr. Graves looked back at Robin as he glanced at the wall for a moment. The doctor shrugged and turn from him, exiting the elevator.

Robin looked up just as the door was closing and with a change of heart burst forward and stopped it.

"Dr. Graves, wait."

He turned to the elevator to see the young man now in the doorway.

"Do you have an opening tomorrow?" Robin asked warily.

The doctor nodded as he said, "How's 3?"

"I'll take it."

"Good, see you then Richard," Dr. Graves said with an approving nod and walked away.

Robin watched the elevator door close, leaving him alone in the empty chamber, part of him regretting his decision. He knew he'd sleep very little that night, but for now there was another matter at hand. Within minutes he'd be in her presence and there was little to be done to hide his current thoughts and most bitter of feelings.

 _'But she shouldn't have to deal_ _with this,'_ he thought looking vacantly at the wall. ' _Just cause I'm having a bad day doesn't mean that I can bring this to her.'_

The door opened, revealing the hall that would lead him to the security desk. He stepped out trying his best to leave the weight of his empathy behind. He didn't want her to feel it, he didn't want her to worry or think about what other people wanted. He just wanted her to think about what was best for _her_ , but for Raven sometimes that was just too much to ask. Whether Raven wanted to admit it or not, her nature was and always would be wrapped up in the well-being of others. And that's why Robin truly couldn't allow Eric to see Raven.

**Journal Entry #20: Silent all these years**

There's something about the power of words that most people take for granted. Whether it's simply telling someone how we feel or speaking the most difficult of truths, it's our words that people remember. In the depths of their meaning, words can write us poetic stories of both truth and deception. But it's one's inability to truly hear them that astonishes me most. Think about it, when was the last time you truly listen to a song and took in exactly what the artist was trying to tell you. Do you even know how?

It's not just the words we choose, but the manner in which we speak them that makes them meaningful. Every inflection, every smile or slight hint of anger can change the sweetest compliment into a bitter insult. It amazes me how little people truly hear one another and how many don't even have a voice.

Today I began thinking about my own voice and how it's been years since I've truly heard it. I know that sounds pretty odd, but it's honestly the truth. Over the years I've constantly been repeating what I've been told or what I thought I was supposed to say. But for the first time in years, I heard myself, and I think I can finally say the things I thought I never could.

Shortly after Bruce left, Richard came to visit me again and I could immediately tell that something was bothering him. (Well, more than usual) As he sat down I could see that he didn't want to be around me. His posture was stiff and rigid, more than usual. There was a clear discomfort in his eyes and I could see in their cloudy depths that there was something dragging him down.

"Bad day Boy Blunder?"

He looked at me with a crassness that only showed itself when he truly felt demolished, "You have no idea Rae," he sighed.

"You wanna talk about it?" I asked closing my journal to give him my undivided attention.

He looked at me with dejection and I could tell that whatever had happened in the last 24 hours had taken its toll out on him. Sadly, the last few weeks hadn't been the kindest and I wasn't surprised to see everything finally catching up with him. I just wished I wasn't the core of it.

"No, it's not about me," but it was, "I just want you to get better is all."

He was telling the truth. He really wanted nothing more than for me to get better and live as close to a normal life as I could muster, but I wanted him to be better too. Richard would never admit it, but this whole episode had made him depressed and forced him to face things he'd never thought he'd have to. His view of the world was now altered—darker. For him once again the world had ended and, I know lonely that can be.

"I know you want the best for me Richard, but has it ever occurred to you that maybe I want the best for you too?"

He gave me a crude look, as though it were an odd concept. He'd spent so much time worrying about me that he never really stopped to think that maybe I worried about him too.

"I really don't want you to worry about me Rae, at least not right now," he replied as though he'd failed me.

I shook my head at him and leaned forward, "So this is what it feels like to be on this side of the table."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He leaned back as insult mildly dripped from his words and grew bitter from the bite of heavy truth.

"Do you really have to ask that question?" I replied sarcastically. Sometimes Richard can be so clueless.

His eyes smiled with irony as he spoke, "Well, you don't always tell me everything."

"Because _I worry_ about how it will affect you, Bird Boy." I raised an eyebrow and cracked a smile.

Richard just rolled his eyes at being called _Bird Boy,_ "Well, it only makes me worry about you more."

" _Oh_ , does it now? Well, maybe _you_ should tell me what's _destroying your soul_." I was patronizing him now, and I could tell he wasn't fond of my tone, mostly because he knew I was right. "Ya know, if this is gonna be a one sided conversation, you can just leave."

I could tell this statement made him a little angry, but I honestly didn't care. If he was going to act like a child then I was more than happy to treat him like one.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No, I really don't, but I also don't want you to sit here and pretend that everything is alright when it's clearly not," I replied. "That sort of thing might work with Star, but you know it won't work on me."

He shot me a look of resentment and I could hear the vulgar thought he'd never dare let passed his lips.

"That was a low blow Rae."

"I could have hit you lower," I replied and I could have, but hurting him was not my intention.

"So you're just gonna kick me when I'm down too?"

"Only if you want me to."

Sometimes there is a sadistic nature to our fights, not because we want to hurt each other, but because we are the only two people who can understand such things and why they need to be said. I like to think it's because we know each other in a way that no one else can and we know just how far to push one another. But as much as we truly care about each other, we have a tendency to act like a car crash.

"So I take it Star is a part of the problem?"

He crossed his arms and looked at me mockingly, "Yeah, and by the way, _pretending_ never _worked_ with Star either," he replied bitterly, "but I wished it did."

He was right, Kory may have had some language and social barriers, but she never had any emotional ones. However, that was also her downfall, at least when it came to her relationship with Richard.

"She doesn't understand that in your own way you're trying to protect her?"

He nodded though I could tell it was deeper than that.

"Yeah, she just doesn't understand that there are some things she'll never understand about me and I honestly don't want her to."

I can understand this need. It's a need to preserve what he loves about her and he feels that if he tells her just how deep his darkness runs he'll poison her. I know this because I feel the same way about him.

"So I'm assuming that your little conversation, or lack thereof, was about me?" I asked letting go of any caution that may have stopped me.

He nodded, but said nothing.

"Ok, so what did she say that _metaphorically_ kicked where it hurts?"

He closed his eyes in frustration, his posture growing rigid as he said, "I told her that I didn't know what to say, ya' know about all this, and she told me that _I never did._ "

"Ouch," I replied, "she might as well have kicked you," and I honestly meant that.

Richard is the kind of man that can physically take a hit, but not a verse. He was literally trained to handle physical pain, but he was never taught to deal with the emotional kind. That's why we understand each other so well; we both had emotionally fucked up childhoods. Yay us (sarcasm, insert eye roll here).

"Yeah, if she'd punched me in the mouth I would have considered it kind," he finally said. "There's just so much I can't even bring myself to say and things I don't even know how to explain. And I can't even remotely get her to see that."

"I understand," I sighed.

Richard cracked a weak smile, "I know you do… and that's why I worry."

"Yeah, but I know I can't _fix_ you."

He looked at me surprised, as though I'd just spoken the most honest of truths, "I don't wanna fix you Raven. I just want you to be happy. You deserve that."

I leaned toward him again, trying to feel if he really meant those words subconsciously, "You're right. You don't think I need to be _fixed_ , you just wanna _save me."_

Richard didn't say anything, he just looked away from me as though he could just shut off our bond (like he actually could?)

"Or maybe it's deeper than your hero complex, maybe—"

"Raven, can you just stop," he snapped, reaching his breaking point, but immediately replied with an apologetic look, "Rae I'm sorry… I… I didn't—"

"I know," I said cutting him off. "I shouldn't have pushed you."

He looked away from me again—only a glance, "I shouldn't have pushed you either."

I looked up at him a moment, slightly puzzled, "Pushed me?" I questioned, trying to delve deeper into his empathy. "Oh… that."

His eyes fell at the sound of my voice as it finally broke away from its crass monotone. For a moment neither one of us knew what to say. We hadn't discussed what happened that night and I could tell neither one of us really wanted to. I know I didn't.

"Richard," I finally said, "you did push me, but you didn't push me to do that. I was just waiting for the right moment to fall. It's not your fault," and I meant those word with everything in my being, but I could tell he couldn't accept that.

"And I didn't catch you."

I bit my lip at his stubbornness; he really did blame himself, though I _did not,_ in any way, hold him responsible for what _I_ did.

"It was my decision, and I would have made it at some point, there was nothing you could have done to stop me… So stop blaming yourself."

He sighed, but it brought him little relief, his mind was racing with so many emotions I nearly lost my own.

"And you wonder why I'm always trying to save you."

"But you can't save me Richard, because this time, I need to save myself."

He looked at me in a way he'd never looked at me before. Like it was the first time he'd ever heard me. And in a way, it was the first time I'd heard myself.

It was like I'd finally said the words that we both needed to hear, like my voice actually mattered and what I said actually meant something. For years I've always felt my words were empty or at least not entirely full. There has always been some part of them that was influenced by the words of another and never entirely my own.

I can remember times where I've tried so hard for people to hear me, but my voice only got lost among the sound of many. As though the world was just one giant cacophony and within it I was too small a voice to be heard[J10] . But now it was like everything went silent, as though no one else's voice mattered but mine, and the one person I really wanted to hear me, could.

Richard remained silent, as though his own voice was lost to him and he now stood where I had only had moments before. It wasn't that he didn't listen, he did, but his voice was always the one to prevail. However, I could tell that this place was nothing new for him, it was just new to me, and I think that frightened him.

"If I can't save you then what am I supposed to do?"

That was a good question. It seemed we were both a little out of our element. "I don't know, maybe you could just keep the _light on_?"

He looked up at me, recalling our passed conversation, "Ok then, I will. I'll always be here if you need help finding your way back home."

I smiled at him and reached my hand out to his, "That's what I'm counting on, Bird Boy."

He finally smiled, letting go of some of his frustration. I felt that he understood me and that he respected my need to hold myself accountable, but deep down, he still couldn't get past his own guilt. But there is really only so much I can do and say to alleviate that pain, I just hope he knows he doesn't have to endure it alone.

"Ya' know Richard, I'm not the only one who needs to learn to save themselves," I said still holding his hand.

He pulled back a bit, once again thrown off guard by my words. He was clearly bothered by this notion (though I'm not entirely sure why) but I think it had something to do with his sense of agency. Most of his life has been spent worrying about others and saving them from not just mad men, but themselves. Even when it came to his relationship with Bruce, it was clear that Bruce bestowed in him the ability to save others, but failed to show him how to save himself (which is honestly for the better. I'm not entirely sold that even Bruce knows how to do that).

Truth be told, the thing that has been saving Richard is that he knows how to fall and get back up again. And if it were not for his resilience, he probably would have crashed and burned up a long time ago.

"Honestly, I think it's just easier to save other people," he finally replied, his voice bleeding with truth and sarcasm. "It's just an easier clean up."

I honestly couldn't have agreed more, but I'm learning that just because it's easier, doesn't mean that it will help stop the bleeding. Sometimes all you're really doing is putting a Band-Aid on a bullet hole.

"You're right. It is easier to let someone ride in on their white horse and save you, or in your case, _be the one doing the saving,_ but if the enemy is yourself, then you'll just need to be saved again. And there's really only one person who is capable of doing that and well, it's not the person showing up on a white horse now is it?"

"So I guess you gotta get your own horse?" He cracked a half-smile and ran his thumb over my knuckles passively.

There was an acceptance, but also an unwillingness that clung to his words. Saving me was a part of our connection, it was a part of _us_ , but it can't be that way forever. If I continue to sink, I'll drown like I always do, and one day, the prince won't make it in time. And last I checked, you can't save Sleeping Beauty if she's dead.

"I do…" I sighed. "But just because I get my own, doesn't mean I won't need you anymore."

"You'll just need me less," Richard said trying to hide the slight air of defeat.

"No," I corrected, "I'll just need you in a different way. I'm just not sure how yet."

It was the truth. I'll always need Richard in _some way_. He understands me in a way that no one else can and there are things that I can't bring myself to say that I don't have to say to him. It's hard to explain, but even when I learn to catch myself and prevent my sinking, I'll still want him there, I just won't rely on him to catch me. I'll still need someone who has my best interest at heart and I'll still need someone to lean on if and when the world becomes too heavy to carry. That's what friendship is for. No matter how strong we are we still bend, that's life, but learning not to break, that's on me.

"So we have to learn to see each other differently I guess," Richard said scratching his fingernail down my ring finger.

"Yeah, I can't be your damsel and you can't be my prince," I smiled, let out a slight laugh.

"I guess we don't live in a Disney Movie after all," he joked, his cynicism a little raw from his spite.

I rolled my eyes as images of voiceless princesses filled my head, "That we certainly don't. Our reality is a little more _realistic._ "

I smiled at him and for a moment, I knew that we were on the right track again. It would take some work and getting used to, but I'm confident that we can both learn to be who we need to be, not who _we think_ we need to be.

I looked over at Nora sitting by herself on the couch. She had a vacant look in her eyes, one that made her soft face look hardened and distant. She'd never learned to save herself, she just kept jumping back into the ocean. Hoping some man would come along and be her prince, but they never were. In the end all they ever did was let her sink deeper by taking away her ability to see herself as anything more than a commodity. But that's also her fault for letting that happen.

Nora was told that men would fix all her problems. That she should marry and let some man take care of her, especially because her career had an expiration date. But nobody cared to tell her that the prince isn't coming. At least not until Jack showed up.

"Hello Violet," Jack said taking a seat at the head of the table, " _Dick Head_ ," he nodded to Richard as I tried not to laugh.

Richard shook his head in defeat, accepting that he would never win against Jack's vulgarity, "Nice to see you too, _Jack Off_."

Jack let a wide smile stretch across his face, "Ah… I like this guy, I've heard it before, but that's a bloody good one mate," Jack said as though proud he'd made Richard stoop to his level. "This one's a keeper, Vi."

"Yeah… he's grown on me… kinda like a parasitic twin," I said throwing in some much needed wit.

"That's really nice, Rae," Richard said with a sarcastic smile which I gladly returned.

"I fuck'n love this girl, she's a trip." Jack leaned back and crossed his arms, the smell of his last cigarette still faint on his breath. "So Dick, what brings you to the local loony bin on this fine afternoon?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

Jack laughed as though the question was too obvious, "It looks like you're depressed. But hey, don't take my word for it, I've only lived with depression for at least 15 years or so—something like that." He smiled giving no thought about his lifted filter. "But seriously mate, you come like every day. Why?"

"Because I'm trying to be supportive," Richard replied a little vexed by the Australian's presence.

"Oh in that case let me applaud you," he said patronizingly. "You're a regular Mike Hunt now aren't ya mate."

Richard looked at him a little off-put, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means whatever you think it does, _Dick_."

Richard looked at me as I glanced away, knowing Jack's pseudonym wasn't much of a compliment.

"So Jack is there a reason you're harassing my friend?" I asked realizing that I should probably intervene.

"No, not really," he replied. "I'm just bored, plus Nora won't fucking talk to me."

"Why?"

"Probably because I told her she was _a dumb cunt_." The word left his lips with little more than a second thought as he uses this term for pretty much everything to the point I'm not even offended by it any more.

"Yeah that's not really something you say to a woman," I replied.

I may have become numb to its shocking effects, but understandably most people aren't, including Richard, who was about 7 shades of shocked.

"Well someone had to tell her, she obviously wasn't getting the bloody hint now was she." Jack's voice was oddly righteous as though he were performing some sort of public service.

"You really shouldn't have called her that," Richard added, finally able to overcome his disgust.

"Hey Dick Head, fuck off," Jack snapped, "It's a perfectly good word, a once very popular word may I add. It was used by both Shakespeare and Chaucer. I don't know why it even has so much shock value, we live in a world where you can find the most horrendous porn on the Internet while _Dance Moms_ pimps out their kids like fuck'n prostatots , yet I use the word cunt and everyone loses their fucking shit? It's profanity that has over 800 years of history, so calm the fuck down and stop being a sucha dumb cunt."

Richard looked at me obviously offended, and who wouldn't be, but in truth Jack had a point. Not a very good point, but a point.

"Well Shakespeare was a fan of the word, and it was a commonly used during the middle ages and oddly enough its origin leads back to Africa where it refers to the word "kunta" which ironically means _queen_ ," I rambled as though I were the fucking Oxford Dictionary.

I could tell Richard still found it distasteful and to be honest if I didn't know Jack I would have too, but Jack uses the word "cunt" so liberally that it's honestly lost its bite. Not to mention that as much as it sounds like he's belittling Nora, he's really not. It's just his way of saying, " _what you're doing is foolish, you need to stop."_ Now you're probably wondering why he can't just say that, well the answer is simple, Jack's a _dumb cunt._

"So you're not offended?" Richard asked as though my chastity had been somehow compromised, or something like that.

I leaned back and pressed my lips together, "No. I mean it's basically the equivalent of dick…"

I bit my lip and shrugged as Richard rolled his eyes in disdain. Jack began to laugh, enjoying the expression my leader was creating.

"So Jack, why did you say that to her in the first place?" I asked trying to move that gem of a conversation forward.

Jack's face took on a more seriously look, furrowing his brow in what appeared to be dismay, "Well while you were talking to that rich guy earlier, I saw Nora trying to use the phone," Jack said recalling the details. "So me being well… _me,_ I decided to grace her with my presence. However when I got over there I noticed she was looking threw an old address book." Jack paused as a little anger filled his eyes.

"So?"

"She was calling her cunt of an ex-boyfriend," Jack said a little over zealous, "You know, one who cheated on her with a _model_ , an _actress_ , a bloody stripper, and oh yeah with that _much younger dancer_ , the one who hasn't even come to visit her _once_ , unlike Dick Head here," Jack added throwing a hand in Richard's direction.

I know the feeling of being alone, so I know there is nothing worse. There's an emptiness to it that can only come from thinking that nobody hears you and that if you were to vanish, no one in the world would notice you're gone. I know that's how Nora feels and I know that's why she's willing to make excuses for the man she wishes would love her, but how much of yourself are you will to give up?

"So what'd you do?"

"I reminded her that if she called that fuck'n asshole that all she would be doing is allow the cycle to continue and that nothing would ever change."

I was actually genuinely shocked at that response given Jack's lack of tact. "What'd she say?"

"She said that maybe he deserved another chance?" Jack replied in a mocking tone. "So I told her she was a _dumb cunt_." He crossed his arms and leaned back as though his actions justified his words of choice. And honestly I'm inclined to agree.

I would not have used that terminology, but I would have called her out on her actions. However I'm sure she wouldn't have listen to me or heard what she wanted to hear . Unfortunately, the word "cunt" is pretty much the only word left in the English language that still holds any real shock value, but that also makes it really hard to ignore.

"So did she call him?"

"No she didn't." Jack replied, his arms still firmly crossed.

"I guess she got the point, maybe there's hope after all?"

I looked at Richard who at this point seemed to have found some very dark amusement in the colorful conversation. However, he still didn't condone the use of the word or its modern day meaning, but I think that's to be expected.

"You should really apologize to her and explain to her what you _actually_ meant." He said, though it was more out of regret than morality, deep down I know he felt he had no right to talk.

Jack looked back at Richard, leaving his judgment aside, "You're right, I should."

I don't know who was more surprised, me or Richard.

"Seriously?" Richard asked waiting for some sort of back handed compliment to be thrown his way, but to both our surprise, one never came.

"Yeah," Jack replied looking over at Nora who was wading in her self-pity, "I guess I forget how much words can actually hurt a person even if you don't mean for them to hurt. I just wanted her to hear me before she made the same mistake that got her here in the first place."

Jack's thoughts (for what they were) were actually kind of touching, though I was also I little disturbed by them. (It's not every day Jack admits he was wrong and acknowledges his lack of tact.) But still there was something about his moment of self-reflection that made me think that if he could accept the error of his ways, then so could I.

"I can't believe you of all people are taking my advice," Richard said with a genuine look of shock.

"Well, every dumb cunt has a moment and this is yours, Dick Head."

"Well that didn't last long," I finally said almost relieved. I was honestly beginning to think that Richard broke Jack.

Soon after this _lovely_ conversation had come to a much needed end, Richard decided to head home. This was probably one of his shorter visits, but I knew he just needed some time to himself.

"You sure you're ready to head back?" I asked as he stood up.

He shrugged with a little apprehension, his thoughts tangled in possible outcomes. "Well as long as I don't have another conversation that ends with me getting my ego kicked, then I should be fine."

I frowned a little, though he'd said it with humor I knew he was simply trying to mask his true feeling with it.

"Rae, I'll be fine. I've made it this far."

I looked up at him as my expression lightened, the weight of my concern beginning to pull less. It was funny how much he'd grown since I'd first met him all those years ago on that Jump City street. We were the same height then which made eye contact hard to avoid on many occasions. (Maybe that's why he knew he could trust me?) He was so much taller than me now, making it so I had to look up at him to meet his gaze. He was broader now too and far broader than my memory recalled, I guess I hadn't noticed till then.

"You know I meant what I said right? That I want the best for you just as much as you want it for me," I said as he looked down at me.

He ran his fingers through my hair and pushed some free strands off of my face, "I know Rae, but I need you to worry about yourself, I can handle me."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

He laughed a little, though I was serious. Richard and I have one thing in common that the other Titans don't—we're our own worst enemies.

"Rae," he said his voice flooded with vulnerability, "in the end I'll be fine, but I need you to get better."

I could feel how much he meant that, and I wanted nothing more than to deliver on that wish, but deep down part of me was afraid that I wouldn't. Then what would he do?

"I'm sorry," was all I could say as a feeling of loneliness began to claw at me.

"Don't be, you have nothing to apologies for."

I looked up at him, his guilt genuine as it burned in his eyes.

"I'm sorry for what I said about… _your parents._ "

His eyes fell to the floor, the moment hitting him hard as it surfaced from the depths he'd buried it beneath.

Richard finally looked up at me once again—malice not present in his eyes. He'd always tried to be brave for me, acting as though what I'd said didn't hurt that night, but it did.

"You weren't wrong." There was a shattered quality to his words as though just the thought brought him right back to that horrible place—I know it did.

"I know, and I'm sorry I used that against you… you trusted me not too," I said meagerly.

"Yeah well, you trusted me too, and I hurt you just as much as you hurt me."

I sat down, the conversation leaving me with little energy to stand, "But you _weren't_ trying to hurt me."

His brow knitted itself as his gaze fell from my direction, "That doesn't change the fact that I did."

"No, but the fact I wanted to hurt you does."

He didn't say anything, he just looked at me crudely as though he knew what he wanted to say, but just couldn't bring himself to. I knew part of him wanted to scream at me for what I'd just said and another wanted to walk away and never looked back, but neither part of him acted.

I wanted to apologize, but couldn't. I couldn't apologize for something that was the truth. I may not have wanted to hurt him now, but I wanted to then and I sadly succeeded in that. He may have violated my trust and pushed me over my boundaries, but that doesn't pardon my actions and it certainly doesn't warrant what I said to him.

"I know you wanted to hurt me then," Richard finally said.

I looked up at him, his face a bit softer, but still conflicted as he continued, "But I know you don't feel that way anymore, you were just trying to push me away… kind of like you're trying to do now."

"Of course part of me is trying to push you away, look at where I am?" I said feeling deluded. "I've been here for almost 3 weeks and I have no idea when I'm getting out. I'm tired of you seeing me like this—like I'm crazy."

"Raven you are crazy," Richard said bluntly, kneeling down in front of me, "but we all are."

I could feel my inquiry pulling at my brow as he finished his statement,

"You, me, Vic, Kory, Gar, we're all fucking nuts in one way or another. I mean, Kory's nursing an addiction to mustard, Vic's in love with his car, Gar thinks he's actually funny, and I'm an ex-circus freak with a G.E.D. and a semi-chronic case of excessive compulsive disorder," he huffed and took a deep. "None of us are prefect Rae, and none of us expect you to be."

I couldn't speak, all I could do was smile at the thought that in hindsight I really wasn't alone. I burst forward and threw my arms around Richard as a few tears tried to breech my eyes.

"Thank you," I whispered in his ear, settling my chin on his shoulder.

I felt a smile play across his lips as his arms wrapped around me tightly. I could see Nora from over his shoulder, looking over at me, her dark green eyes holding true to their color. She wanted what I had, even if it wasn't the perfect fairytale every little girl was underhandedly promised. She still couldn't find her voice, it was still lost among everyone else's and would be for as long as she refuses to find it.

I know that life is never going to be easy, but at least I know that I won't be alone it in it, and I'm grateful for that. However, I still have to learn to come to peace with what I've done and everything I can't change. But I can at least speak the truth now, and that's something I haven't been able to do in years.


	22. Time + Tragedy

The next day came before Robin knew it and once again he found himself entering the hospital, but this time he'd be the one under the microscope. He walked into the lobby and approached the front desk where Marge sat contently reading her gossip columns.

"Hey Marge, I have an appointment with Dr. Graves," Robin said in a causal tone.

"Congratulations," Marge replied with an eye roll not even acknowledging the young man.

Robin looked back at the embittered older woman, her thinning red hair somehow woven into a beehive. The way she looked actually perplexed him as she reminded him of some cartoon character or something of that nature. As for her personality, Marge was a miserable old thing with no compassion and had no business working in a hospital of any kind.

"Well, what are you doing still standing there, you dense or something?" the battle ax hissed finally looking in Robin's direction.

The young man raised a brow, taken back by her rudeness, "Well I was hoping you could tell me where to go?" Robin mused with a derogatory look.

Marge creased her poorly penciled brows, giving her bug eyes a squinted appearance. ' _God, she's ugly. Who the hell does she look like?'_ Robin thought to himself, trying to put a name to the awkward face.

"Dear lord, do people do anything for themselves anymore?" she whined. "Take the elevator to the second floor, that's where you'll find Graves."

"Thanks for _all_ your help, _Marge_ ," Robin said with a little disdain.

"Yeah that's what I do, make the world a better place by pointing out the obvious."

_'What a bitch.'_

Robin entered the elevator and pressed the button for the correct floor. He still wasn't comfortable with what he was about to do, he'd always been taught to keep those things to himself. Still, he knew deep down that wasn't healthy and Raven was proof of that. ' _I just hope Bruce doesn't find out_ ,' Robin thought as the elevator door opened to reveal the very sterile environment. He looked around and found a familiar pretty blond walking down the hall.

"Hey there," she cued in her flamboyant voice, "you're Raven's little boyfriend, right?"

"I'm not—"

"Oh, ya know what I meant, doll," the pretty doctor interrupted. "So whatcha doin' in this neck of the woods, Cutie?"

"I'm here to see Dr. Graves," Robin replied a little uncomfortable with Dr. Quinzel's _overly_ friendly attitude (which was odd considering how unfriendly Marge was).

"Tightening up a few screws are we?" Dr. Quinzel asked throwing her filter to the wind.

"What?"

"Oh it's just a little psychiatrist joke, but take a seat—get comfortable. I'll go tell Graves for ya, okay?" she said flailing her hand about with little care, clearly in her own world.

Robin watched as she strut down the hall out of view, the whole time wide eyed from the odd encounter.

"Does everyone around here have just one oar in the water or something?" he said under his breath and took a seat.

He thought about leaving, his mind scrambling for any excuse to get out of the session _. 'I could just say that I forgot I had another appointment… or I could say I got an urgent call.'_ His mind continued to construct new alternatives as he waited slumped down in the chair with his arms crossed.

"Wow, you actually showed," Robin heard a low voice say.

He looked up to find Dr. Graves standing to his left, "You thought I wouldn't?"

"Well, you don't seem like the kind of person to open up, plus _I've met your father_."

"Good point," Robin replied, his arms still crossed.

"My office is this way," the doctor said and turned away.

Robin let out a long sigh and followed him down the blank hallway. He couldn't help but wonder what Raven thought when she looked at the dry walls that were void of feeling and warmth. He could feel a loneliness to them, their harshness cold like a turned back. ' _I can see why she hates it here. It's like a constant reality check.'_

"So how have you been holding up?" the doctor asked opening his office door.

Robin unwillingly stepped inside, taking in the starkness that awaited him, "I don't know, how well can I possibly take a situation like this?"

"There is really no real answer to that," Dr. Graves replied closing the door. "That's like trying to tell someone that the sky is blue if they feel that it's black."

Robin looked back at the doctor a little morbidly, "That's kinda grim for someone who works with suicidal people."

Dr. Graves shrugged almost unaffected, "That was kind of the point. Coffee?"

"Sure," Robin replied voidly and sat down in a vacant chair. "But shouldn't you be more—I don't know, _positive_?"

"I _be_ what I have _to be_ ," the doctor replied. "Not every person needs a cheerleader, some people just need to know that somebody gets it."

"Gets what?"

"That life isn't easy, people can be cruel, and the world isn't designed for everyone."

Robin let his brow sink with the weight of that cold truth, knowing just how heavy those realities could be. "Sounds like life."

"Well no situation is ever ideal," Dr. Graves replied. "We all have to learn to endure the things that we can't cure. How do you take your coffee?"

"Just black," Robin replied hardly looking at the doctor. "So do you have something that you can't change?"

"Of course, I am human after all, aren't I?" Dr. Graves handed Robin his coffee and continued, "But what about you, what do you have to endure?"

"That's kind of a long list."

"I've got time."

"I don't."

Robin's voice filled with bittiness as he crossed his arms and looked down. It was like he was fighting against the world as it moved forward when he wanted it to stop. That if he didn't keep up he'd be left behind like a memory.

"Then just pick something you're comfortable talking about," the doctor replied after a moment.

"I'm sorry Dr. Graves. I was just kind of taught to _endure_ it _quietly_."

"Bruce?"

"Yeah, he discouraged sharing."

"I kinda got that from him," the young doctor said dryly. "But sometimes keeping it locked up isn't for the best. For people like Bruce, it works because he can't allow himself to fall apart, but that doesn't mean you should treat yourself the same way."

Robin knew he was right. He didn't have to hold onto everything and he'd found that letting others in was actually something that helped him. What kind of leader would he be if he preached something he didn't practice?

"How come admitting the truth is so hard? It should be easy, but it's not," Robin asked looking into the rich color of the coffee, his reflection maskless in the dark surface.

The doctor let out a slight laugh and tilted his head to the side, "I don't know, but you're right, the truth is never easy. Perhaps it's because the truth holds the fabric of who we are versus _who we think we are?"_

"Wow you're really good at making up _bullshit_ ," Robin replied slightly impressed with the answer and how philosophical it was.

"What is philosophy without a little _bullshit_?" The doctor laughed at the boy's brazen remark. "But bullshit aside, is there a truth in particular that you are having trouble dealing with?"

The question made Robin uncomfortable as there really was a truth that was eating away at him and left his head heavy at night. He let his eyes drift away as the memory of his argument with Raven replayed itself for only his tortured mind to see.

"Are you alright?" Dr. Graves asked noticing his troubled look.

"Did Raven mention anything about… um, the night she took all her pills?" Hesitation hindered the question, lacing it with fear and dejection, truth only a breath away.

Dr. Graves let his eyes darken as he looked at the young man with sympathy, "Well I can't tell you if she did or didn't, that information is confidential."

"I know doctor, what I meant was… something about me, like something I might have done." His words were cautious, yet telling.

"I can't tell you anything about what Raven's said, you're gonna have to be more specific."

Robin put his face in his defeated hands and muttered something that was muffled, but sounded like, " _It was my fault."_

"I'm sorry Richard, I couldn't hear you," the young doctor replied unable to fully make out the inaudible words.

"I said, _it's my fault_ ," he sighed and ran his fingers though his hair, "I fucked up."

The doctor looked back at him a little surprised by the statement, but responded promptly, "I'm sure Raven doesn't think that."

"I know she doesn't, but it doesn't matter if she does or not because it is _my fault_." Discontent dripped from the sound of his voice as it cracked with disdain from his guilt. "I just couldn't accept what she was doing, how she was living her life and I overstepped my boundaries. And as a result… she swallowed all her sleeping pills, which she probably wouldn't have done if I hadn't thrown out her—" Robin paused abruptly, realizing what he was about to say.

"By all means continue," Dr. Graves quipped with a causal hand motion.

"I can't, as Raven's best friend that information is _confidential_ ," the young hero replied with a little sarcasm.

The doctor smiled at the witty remark, "Fair enough. The point is you feel like—because you overstepped your boundaries—that you betrayed her and now feel responsible for the decision that she made."

"Yes,"

"For a decision that _she_ made," Dr. Graves said clearly.

"Yeah, I just said that."

"You're not picking up what I'm putting down," the doctor said dryly, "a _decision_ that _she_ made."

"What's your point?" Robin finally asked still not quite catching on.

"I'm telling you it's not your fault, it doesn't matter what you did, it was her decision—she made it."

The doctor's tone was firm and unmoved, almost stoic.

"Are you saying it was her decision to make?" Robin questioned with discomfort erupting for his vocal cords.

The doctor shook his head, a little weary, "No, I'm saying that she thought it was, and therefore there is nothing you could have done differently to avoid it. See when someone like Raven is suffering from depression and suicidal thoughts, and they're not getting proper treatment, they are going to end up here _eventually_. And that's because—in _her mind—_ ending her life was a rational answer, and as _irrational_ as that sounds to you—to her—it's the _most rational decision she ever made_."

Robin looked at the doctor with a little horror on his face, his mind now steeping in the harshest of truths. It was nearly too overwhelming for him to take it all in, but in a sense he could now understand that maybe things weren't always as black and white as they seemed. The doctor's logic was so simple, yet so complex that he actually found himself caught between how he felt about it.

"Why is it so hard for me to understand it?" Robin finally asked, trying to escape his thoughts.

"Because you know how to find your way out of the darkness," Dr. Graves replied with a shrug. "For some, life actually hurts more than it should and they can't see a way out of it. People like that live their lives in the dark and when darkness is all you know, it's all you see."

Robin looked down, taking the thought into consideration. He too knew darkness, but it wasn't everything. He'd known very well that the world offered more than the sadness that life conjured from time to time. He learned early on that sadness was simply a part of life, and though it could pierce us to the core, it also played an important part in our humanity. He knew that sadness was something people were supposed to feel and how deeply driven its sting could be. But lately he was beginning to understand how awful it was to feel as a constant. And once again he found himself at its doorway with that same empty feeling that held him close to its wrath.

Dr. Graves noticed this and quickly tried to remedy it, "What you're feeling is normal Richard, especially for someone like you," he said reassuringly and picked up his pen.

"What am I feeling?" Robin replied weak and brittle.

"Basically survivor's guilt," the doctor said, "You're upset because you know you can't save her and you're not ok with that."

"Ironic, Raven told me that yesterday. She said that she is the only person who can make the decision to get better."

"She's right," the man said. "Raven is the only person with the power to change the way she lives her life, and if she doesn't want to get better… then nothing will change."

"So what if she doesn't?" the young hero asked in dismay.

"You deal with it if it happens, but if I have anything to say about it, you won't have to," Dr. Graves said with reassurance. "You just need to be the person _she needs you to be_."

"I don't know if I know who that is anymore."

A look of confusion filled Robin's features as his identity shattered into several murky pieces.

"You do because she's telling you, you just have to listen. She trusts you, Richard, and that's really important right now."

Robin took a deep breath and exhaled heavily, "I don't know how she can after what I did and everything I said."

Dr. Graves sat up a little and let his eyes soften, "Sometimes we do things that seem right at the time and say things that we don't really know how to say when we're afraid of losing someone we love." He paused a moment as Robin looked up at him from his coffee. "Sometimes there just isn't a way to say what we want without hurting someone and sometimes the people we love the most are the people who know how to cut us the deepest."

"So you're saying what I did was out of _love_ ," Robin said cynically, "that's fucked up."

"Love is fucked up," the doctor replied in a graveled tone. "It's a very fickle emotion that brings both the best and the worst out of us. It drives us to do stupid things and ironically enough, it can makes us hate just as much as we love."

"You sound like you know."

The doctor cracked a dry smile, "Cause I do. I wouldn't be here telling you this if I didn't."

Dr. Graves looked away a little reminiscent, obviously reliving some of his more poignant moments. Robin could tell that the man before him, like many, had lived through life's disappointments. That he knew the feeling of loss and defeat a little too well, but he didn't seem bogged down by it. If anything, he now seemed whole because of it, or at least as close to whole as he could get. He just seemed to accept it.

"So do you think things will ever be normal again?" Robin asked a little apprehensive, afraid of the answer.

"What is normal?" the doctor questioned with a slight smirk.

Robin only shrugged, realizing that in hindsight he honestly couldn't find a definitive answer.

"I mean, our idea of _norma_ l is simply a standard that has everything to do with how we are raised, conditioned, taught to believe. And even at that, our idea of normal changes over time just like we do. Things never stay the same, you just have to learn to accept the present and move forward."

"That's what I was afraid," the young hero replied.

Dr. Graves looked over at him, knowing the feeling the young man was experiencing. "Change can be really overwhelming, but it's also the thing that helps us become stronger."

Robin let his glance fall to the floor, realizing that without change he'd never have become the person he was today, and that without it, he'd still be standing in Bruce's shadow. But still, there was a weakness to it all, because sometimes change wasn't always for the better.

"So Dr. Graves, am I crazy?" Robin finally asked with some wittiness.

The doctor let out a small laugh and shook his head, "No, I'm happy to say you're far from it, You're just a little depressed which is understandable due to your current situation."

"So what am I supposed to do?" the young hero asked, "Take medication or something?"

The doctor looked down and clicked the cap of his pen then began to write, "I know they make a pill for everything these days, but I don't think medication will help you, I think talking to someone would be more beneficial."

"You mean like a _shrink_?" The boy's tone was sardonic as he looked up at the doctor a little under-enthused.

"No, I mean like a counselor," Dr. Graves replied, "I think it would do you good to talk to someone you can be completely honest with."

Robin's posture became ridged as he said unwillingly, "Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Yes, her name is Dr. Liddle. She has a private practice downtown. I'd highly recommend her."

"Why's that?" Robin asked taking the piece of paper from the doctor's hand.

"Because one; she specializes in suicide survival and two; I think you'd feel better talking to a woman," Dr. Graves replied leaning back on his desk.

"But I'm not suicidal?"

"I know," the doctor said in response to Robin's hostile tone, "That term is used for two different groups of people; one being those who have attempted suicide and other being those left behind by it."

"But Raven's not dead?"

The young hero looked at the doctor with question brewing in his eyes as though he were a dog ready to bite.

"Yes, but I think part of you feels like she did die and in a sense she did, and part of you is still very afraid of losing her."

Robin flinched at his words and looked down in discomfort. He was deathly afraid of losing Raven, he always had been. Only now he'd actually had to face it—see it even. He never thought he'd have to relive that feeling, he never thought he'd have to watch the _sky fall again._

"I guess that makes sense then," he said mournfully and looked up. "So why do I need to see a _woman?_ "

"Because I think you'll feel less threatened. You tend to think you have to compete with other men," Dr. Graves replied.

Robin looked up at the doctor little shocked, "I don't think—" he began, but stopped as he could see the doctor was not willing to argue the point.

He was right however, Robin did feel he had to compete with other men. Whether it was Bruce, Slade, Speedy or even Eric, Robin felt that he had not only had to prove his worth, but prove it to them.

"Ok, maybe you're right about that too," he sighed with a little defeat.

"It's not a matter of me being right, it's a matter of finding a solution that works for you."

Dr. Graves paused for a moment as he noticed that Robin's mood had changed slightly, as though it had deteriorated in the past few moments. "Richard, what's bothering you?"

Robin looked over at him unable to hide the guilt that stung him, threatening to break from his eyes. His instincts, his training, all fought him not to answer the question, but they weren't enough.

"I just don't want to hurt her again," Robin said in a broken tone, "I don't think she can take that kind of heartbreak anymore, at least not right now?"

He was at a loss, his words bleeding with fear and disappointment, all narrowly pointed at himself.

Dr. Graves could see how sick the young hero felt over this guilt. How he just couldn't seem to see passed it.

"I can't tell you that you won't, it would be cruel of me to. But I can tell you that if you try and reflect on how your actions affect others, then you'll be less likely to cause her pain." Dr. Graves looked away and continued. "I know Raven means a lot to you, I can see that she does, but you have to remember that you can't let your fear of losing her cloud your ability to help her. I know it's hard, sometimes the right decision feels like the wrong one, but in the end _, nothing can come of nothing."_

"That was extremely vague of you," Robin replied rising from his chair.

"It wasn't meant to be," Dr. Graves replied, "but I think part of you knows what I mean?"

Robin threw on a dried smile, but not out of disrespect, "Maybe I do and it'll hit me like some brilliant epiphany or something cliché like that."

He reached out his hand toward the doctor and shook his hand in return, "Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, it actually _helped._ "

"You're welcome and I promise you that in time all of this will be fine, you just have to be patient."

Robin took a deep breath and fought the urge to roll his eyes, "That's what everyone keeps telling me. Part of me is beginning to think that it'll never get better."

"You can't think that way," Dr. Graves said, "if you do, she'll see it. Don't give her a reason not to get better."

Robin exhaled raggedly as his empathy caught him by the throat, "Then I guess I have to believe it will then, don't I?"

"You do, and I know that's hard to see right now, but you just have to accept that what's done is done and move forward. Don't dwell in the past, you can't change it."

Robin looked away from the doctor, knowing he was right. There was nothing that could be done to undo anything that past the point of yesterday. All he could do was think of tomorrow and hope that the decisions he made today would bring him there.

"So I just have to hope that tomorrow is a better day?"

"Yes," the doctor smiled, seeing that the young man now held a glint of hope.

"Thanks again, Doctor," Robin nodded, then turned and made his way out of the room.

He knew that everything wasn't fixed, but now he was willing to see it through and trust that in time things would find their way again. He approached the elevator and took it up to Raven's ward, where she waited patiently for his visit.

Once he sat don't, she immediately noticed a change in his demeanor, "You seem a little less turbulent, anything you wanna share?"

Robin smiled at her and just shrugged, "I just see things a little differently now."

"How so?"

"I just realized that if I can't keep living in the past."

Raven looked over at him with a peculiar glare, her violet eyes perplexed, "That's actually kind of profound of you?"

Robin smiled as the look turned to amusement on her face, "Well I did have some help coming to that conclusion."

Raven furrowed her brow a little, "You talked to Dr. Graves, didn't you?"

"How'd you know?"

"Well Bruce certainly wouldn't teach you that?"

"That's true, but hey, to each his own, right?"

"Yeah, we all have our demons and our ghosts. I'm actually beginning to believe they make us who we are."

"Because they do?" Robin looked away from her, slightly surprised with the conviction that left his throat.

Raven looked up at him with understanding and even a little envy. Because as much as she knew she shouldn't be defined by her past or her condition, they were both very much a part of who she was—they actually made her stronger.

Overcoming the seemingly impossible was something that Raven became very good at, even if she couldn't see it for herself. She just needed a little bit of hope, and it felt like now she may have found it. Even if it was small.

She leaned back and took a deep breath as though accepting that she couldn't change anything she'd done.

"You know, it's funny how it's when we lose everything that we find out _who we are_."

Robin gave her a slight smile, knowing first-hand just how true her statement was.

"Hey Richard?" she asked softly as though pondering what she was about to ask.

"Yeah Rae?"

"Do you think you could ask the team to come visit? I really miss them."

Robin paused for a moment before responding to her request, slightly shocked, "Yeah of course. I know they'd love to see you."

There was a grateful silence between them for minute, like they could both feel as though things were looking up.

"Now the only question is; how are we gonna get Beast Boy past security?"

Robin laughed, taking into account how much attention the green boy attracted and for _how many_ _reasons_.

"We'll figure something out, I'm sure Vic's got something up his sleeve. It's gonna take a lot more than Gar's flamboyant skin tone to keep them away, trust me."

"I do."

Robin smiled as the words fell from her lips soft like the sound of icicles breaking, a sound he hadn't heard in a long time.

"I know."

Once the visit was in finished, Robin made his way through the lobby, passing the desk of the red haired banshee. ' _Beaker! She looks like Beaker!'_ Robin thought, realizing the woman looked like a living Muppet, especially with that horrible hair. _'With just a hint of Skeletor…'_

An amused smile took form on his face and slight snicker hiss just under his breath as heard the harsh sound of her gruff voice.

"Hey, yo—Hotshot!" Marge called flailing her hand like she trying to land a jet.

Robin turned realizing she was referring to him, a cured look of question on his face.

"Graves told me to give you this." Marge the lifted a manila envelope, presenting it with annoyance.

"What is it?" Robin asked forgetting reacted to question as though they were her kryptonite.

"How the hell should I know?" she squawked, her bug eyes squinting in distaste.

Robin furrowed his brow at her tone and replied in a flat voice, "You hate people don't you?"

"With every ounce of my being, kid."

Robin nodded, noticing little she was fazed by the question and uttered a "have a good day, Marge," and turned away from her while she made some off color comment about finishing her article about Caitlyn Jenner.

Once outside the hospital, Robin looked down at the envelope in his hands, immediately recognizing it.

"Bruce…" Robin whispered recalling it was his possession just the other day

Robin quickly opened the fold and reached in to feel a small stack of paper and pulled it free, reading along as the print hit sunlight. As his eyes made their way halfway down the page, he was swiftly hit with shock, the discovery almost making him drop the document. This was it, her future.

"Holy shit…"

**A/N: That's the update :) I hope you guys liked it. I thought i was important to look at that side of the story as it a reality for a lot of people. For those of you who might be interested in my new fic _The Red Right Hand,_ I'm gonna post a preview below and you like it you can find the rest of my story on my profile. Enjoy! **

**Prologue: The Rise of a Fall**

_For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings" —William Shakespeare, King Richard II scene 2 act 3_

The night sky hung over Gotham with dimly lit stars, faded from the lights of the city. The streets were damp as mist rolled off the pavement and collected in the cool night air. At this hour the city was scarce of people, except for those who craved adventure or worse—infamy.

Still, the streets seemed quiet, harboring little commotion (at least for the moment). A few homeless men gathered around an old barrel they'd set flame to, trying to find warmth form the fall air. The leaves had begun to change, signaling the end of a summer and possibly the end of an era.

"Does anyone have some of the crystal?" One disheveled man asked, nervously scratching his skin.

"Sorry Davey, I'm dry at the moment. What about you Hitch?" replied a heavy set man with long disheveled grey hair.

Hitch looked up from the flames, his cold hands barley covered by torn fabric, but filthy none the less. "I can't even afford to buy myself a decent pair of gloves, never mind being able to afford that crystal shit." Hitch said with a strange sense of pride, his voice thick with his Scottish origins.

"Man, I need something," Davey snapped, trying to hold back from his tweak. It had been hours since he'd had his last fix and his high was beginning to wear off. "Maybe I can find enough money for that cheap tar some of the dealers are selling."

"You may wanna rethink that Davey, I hear that new shit will rot form the inside out" Hitch said asked looking back down at his filthy hands.

"That's cause that shit's not really heroin, just some cheap homemade shit from Russia." The man with the ratty hair replied, taking a sip of scotch he stored away in his coat.

Suddenly, in the distance the three men heard the squeal of a car engine approach. From the edge of the ally they could vaguely see the glare of head lights far in the distance, but before they knew it, the car speed passed them. The blur of a black SUV flew by, splashing water up from the streets disturbing their clothing before it vanished into the fog.

"What the fuck was that?" Davey exclaimed.

"Um… I think that was the Batmoblie?" the heavy man replied in an air of confusion.

Just then a sleek black car soon cut through the fog, racing passed them with swift intensity.

"No… that was the Batmobile."

The homeless men watched with stunned eyes as the two vehicles drove by and sped off into the foggy streets of Gotham. Moments later the sounds of sirens wailing in the distance began to grow closer. Their lights flashed through thick fog and soon blurs of blue strobes rode by in hot pursuit.

"Who do you think their after?" The heavier man asked, watching the police cars fly by.

"I don't know, but there's something foul in the filthy air," Hitch growled and spit into the flame.

The three men went back to their business, warming their cold hands by the fire while justice chanced those who dare to cross it.

The black SUV charged down the road doing its best to avoid pedestrians who ran fearfully out of its way. The driver looked back in the rear view mirror to see the sleek black vehicle behind it, gaining fast.

"Shit Bruce!" The young man scoffed, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles began to turn white.

He looked over to the passenger seat where a young woman sat slumped over and bleeding heavily from a gunshot wound. "Raven, Raven answer me!" He demanded, knowing she didn't have much time left.

She groaned and rolled her head back, her long black hair now clinging to her white skin. The young man quickly looked up at the road, looking eagerly for an escape route. "Just hang in their Rae, I'm gonna get you help, just stay with me."

He knew these streets well as if he'd never left. They hadn't changed much from when he was a child and if his memory served right, a cut through road to the bridge should have been coming up. ' _But how to ditch the Bat,'_ he thought grimly.

He pushed the pedal to the floor, picking up speed with every second. The SUV began to pull further ahead of the Batmobile, which meant that at any moment one of the Bat's handy gadgets would come hurling out in an attempt to slow the vehicle down or dismantle it.

He saw the Dark Knight's car begin to ready itself to release some sort of projectory. If his memory severed right, he knew it was only moments before he took aim and fired it. He'd have to think fast if he wanted to escape in one piece.

An old road soon appeared on the right and just as the Bat took his aim the driver turned sharply nearly rolling the SUV. The Bat himself was taken by surprise and tried stopping short, but had to come to a squealing stop to get his barrens, but not before sliding into a row of parked cars.

The young driver tore down the narrow road scrambling to remember the fastest way to the bridge. He knew it was only a matter of time before The Batman caught up with them and when he least expected it.

He looked over at Raven again, his concern for her beating in his chest. He needed her to make it, if she didn't he'd never be able to live with himself. He'd already lost too much. The cut through road soon arose from the darkness and with metal and furry the young driver turned down it, nervously taking the chance that he'd come face to face with the Dark Knight.

Swiftly he came around the bend and to his surprise there was not a car insight, or so he thought. From out of nowhere the sleek black vehicle shot out in front of the SUV, cutting it off. The young man whipped the wheel to the left and floored it, pulling up the E-bake to drift around the Batmobile. The Bat himself was stunned, not expecting to see such a sight and watched as the car straightened itself, slightly fish tailing before it sped off.

"Who the hell is this guy?"

The stunt had gained the driver some time and he punched it for the bridge which he could see just up ahead. He knew his pursuer was not far behind, but he hoped with any luck he could escape him. Under the dim street lamps the black SUV shined, catching the light in its reflective dark paint. It flew upon the on ramp of the bridge, speeding wildly down the clear road. The smell of scorched tires rising heavily in the air, leaving thick tracks on the pavement.

"Mmm… Richard?" He heard Raven mutter.

He turned his head quickly to see Raven roll her head back and slightly gain conciseness. "Raven, can you hear me?" He questioned urgently.

For a moment the girl didn't respond and he watched as she let her head go limp again.

"Raven!" He yelled, and reached out his hand to take hold of her chin. "Raven, Raven, answer me PLEASE!"

He peered up and in shock found a woman standing in the middle of the bridge. He jerked the wheel, but this time he lost control and rolled the vehicle over. The scream of scraping metal and shattering glass echoed into the empty space. The car slid violently on its passenger side, bringing to life the bellow of crushed metal as it hit the barrier of the bridge with great force.

The scent of scotched rubber and ground metal rose from the pavement, burning the woman's nose. She'd watched in horror as the SUV slid passed her and broke through the rusty barrier, plummeting from the bridge into the black river below.

The splash of the car was epic, sending white sprays of water into the air at a prominent height. The SUV began to submerge, sinking quickly beneath the black water. On the bridge the woman watched helplessly among the broken glass that lay scattered on the scarred pavement. Her eyes became glassy and her voice quivered in disbelief. In the distance a pair of headlights caught her attention and cut through the smoke left behind from the crash.

Beneath the dark water he couldn't breathe. His head held a dull pounding that rippled through his thoughts. He wanted to open his eyes, but he couldn't his mind being too scattered. Deep in his train of thought he wondered how he'd gotten to this point and how he'd let himself fall so far. Guilt began to set in, devouring him in his breathless state.

_'What have I done to us…'_


	23. But the Spills not far from the Wound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm so sorry this chapter took this long, I'm honestly glad it's over. This chapter took a lot out of me, it's very personal, so it was very difficult to write. I wanna just quickly scream at the top of my lungs ****TRIGGER WARNNING! TRIGGER WARNING! TRIGGER WARNING!*** This chapter is super heavy, and goes into the more emotional aspects of suicidal thoughts and self-harm and I really don't want people to get the wrong ideas, this is not meant to sound romanticized or glamorized. This is just well… it is what it is. I wrote this from my very core so… yeah. It took me a whole year to actually write this chapter and I've avoided writing about self-harm for over 4 years now. Over all I can't say I enjoyed writing it, it was very emotionally draining. I hope you guys enjoy it however, I really tried to make this chapter more about the writing, since the content was uber heavy. I've also been going back and editing this story. It's crazy to think how far I've come as a writer and I think you guys can see that in this story. Also, thank you for the love and support, I'll try and get you guys another update soon! I really wanna bring this story to the close it deserves and I want you all who have taken this journey with me to know how this ends!
> 
> With Love —Ophelia

**Journal Entry # 21: But the Blood Spills not far from the Wound**

"I couldn't sleep last night," I recall saying to Dr. Graves.

The tall man looked up at me as he heard something of dejection in my voice. Most people would have just thought of it as nothing more than fatigue, but not Dr. Graves. No, he's too smart for that. (How annoying.)

He placed his pen down and crossed his arms, changing his posture so that his head fell to the side. "Doing a lot of thinking?"

 _I hate that he knows that,_ I thought and looked down at my tea, but couldn't quite catch my reflection in its fawn face. I watched as steam vaguely rose from the cup and evaporated before my eyes, part of me wanting to follow it into nothing.

"Unfortunately," I replied and looked up from my cup.

I noticed he hadn't written anything down, which was a little unusual, but it was still early into the session, so I didn't think much of it.

"Care to tell me what you were thinking about?" he asked, knowing it was a gamble at best.

"I guess what got me here in the first place?"

I took a sip of my tea and looked away a moment, not entirely knowing what to say. As far as I knew Richard and I were the only two people who really knew what happened that night, and part of me thought it should stay that way.

"We've never really talked about that, have we?" the doctor said with perplexity.

"I don't really know where to start… or even what to think of it, to be honest. I don't really know how I even feel about it now?"

There was a lost quality to my voice, something that just couldn't bring itself to be anything. It just fell between the planes of my personality, wanting to hide and never be seen by the light of day.

"You know Raven, if you're not comfortable talking about it, we don't have to. That moment is really personal, and I respect your need to leave it be."

I looked up a Dr. Graves and smiled, appreciating his tact. "You're right, part of me thinks it's far too personal to share," I said placing my cup down, "but I think part of me needs to tell someone how I got here— _why_ I got here. I'm just afraid that no one is going to _understand_."

"It's hard to understand someone's reasons for doing what they do, but my job is to understand that not everything is as black and white as it seems."

I leaned forward and let out a heavy sigh as I said, "He found _my kit_."

Dr. Graves looked down a moment as he knew exactly what I was referring to. "Your cut—"

"Yeah," I said, cutting him off before he could finish, uncomfortable even hearing the word, "he found it, and… he threw it away."

Dr. Graves raised a brow. "How did you react to that?"

"I absolutely lost my shit," I replied in dismay, "I tore my entire room apart. I couldn't find it anywhere."

"You panicked."

That was an understatement.

"Yeah, I had a full blown anxiety attack. I couldn't deal with it any more than I could with _myself_ ," I said recalling the incident.

I still remember the very feeling in the pit of my stomach when I discovered the box I kept that dark secret in, was gone. Fear ran though my entire body. Not just because I knew someone had found it, but because it meant I couldn't deal with my feelings. I know that sounds wrong, but for me, that's how I dealt with my problems, and I wasn't sure what to do without it. I just couldn't.

Even now, I still get the urge, but I just have to swallow it and tell myself that I can face my demons without spilling my own blood. I just hope I can learn to believe that.

"You didn't know what to do if you couldn't cut?" Dr. Graves asked grimly.

There wasn't any judgment in his voice, but there was something. Like he understood the need to _have_ to do something you know is wrong, but feel compelled to do it anyway. Well, whatever it was, it made me feel like I could trust him with my own ill nature, as shameful as it was.

"Yeah, like I had this sick feeling of fear, need, and failure all snowballing into one horrific nightmare. I felt like it was going to devour me."

Oh my god, just thinking of that moment kind of makes me sick. Not just because I couldn't indulge in my sickness, but because I knew exactly _who_ 'd found it. And that alone, scared me more than I can put into words.

_"Raven, what are you doing? It sounds like a damn car wreck in here?" Richard asked as he stepped into my doorway, and found me in near shambles._

_"Where the hell is it?!" My words were sharp and venomous, to the point I can still taste the poison on my tongue._

_He looked at me with a cynicism he'd never quite possessed before. I could see he knew exactly what I was talking about, but he wasn't about to indulge me._

_"I don't know, what is_ _**it** _ _exactly?" The words left his lips darkly, returning my condescending tone._

_"This isn't a fucking game, Richard," I spat at him, my eyes red with disdain._

_I could not see, but could feel his disgust for my tone—my need. It was like he was looking at my bare bones, like he could see me with my skin pulled back. Like he could finally see what made me tick and he_ _**fucking hated it.** _

_"Raven, you need to relax, you're getting worked up over nothing."_

_"Nothing? You think this is nothing?" I yelled feeling everything about to crush over me. "This is everything to me–I can't do this!"_

_I crashed to my knees in what felt like a fiery blaze, like I was being consumed in my own fury and burning up into nothing._

_Richard looked down at me alarmed, like he honestly thought he made a mistake, but also couldn't bring himself to truly believe that. He approached me cautiously, afraid of what I may do if he got too close._

_"Rae, are you alright?" he said as he knelt down beside me, his feeling toward me less venomous._

_He reached out his hand to touch me, but I swatted it away with bitterness fresh on my hand._

_"Don't you dare touch me!" I growled._

_He recoiled, his disgust revived, but now tangled with fear and even possibly, regret, though it was hard to tell. I peered over at him, my eyes smoldering with vile emotions I cannot even articulate. Feelings of such outstretched animosity that for a moment I actually felt dwarfed by them._

_"You found it, didn't you?"_

_He drew in a breath to reply, but before he could form a sound, I growled at him again._

_"And don't you dare lie to me, Richard…"_

"How did he find the kit in the first place?" Dr. Graves asked, pulling me away from the bitter memory.

I looked up at him with a hit of that smoldering look, the incident now fresh in my mind. "He asked me earlier that week if I'd stopped—I told him that I did…"

I paused and glanced down, recalling the look of dashed hope that painted itself over Richard's face. The way his blue eyes reflected defeat and how they turned to stone when I scorched them with the fire of my own.

"…only—he knew I didn't."

I looked back up at Dr. Graves, a glimmer of that broken feeling lingering in my eyes. It killed me to know how much I'd lied to him—to Richard. How little I told him and how much I needed him. Yet if I could, I'd send him so far away that I'd never cross his mind again.

Dr. Graves didn't say anything for a moment. He didn't want to push me. He wanted me to move forward on my own, but go no further than I could. So I did.

"So he went looking for proof…"

A void cast itself in my eyes as I stared off into nothing. My thoughts filled with images of him digging through my things, scouring for something he truly didn't want to find.

"And he found it, hidden under my bed."

I could only imagine the look on his face then. His anger and repulsion heavily knitting his brows together, every lie I ever wrote written on his face. I know because I saw it looking back at me, it was so clear I could feel it pouring into my stare. That look told me that he found it, that he knew I'd lied to him, that he knew how sick I was.

_"You're the one who's been lying to me, Raven," he hissed, disapproval dripping from every word._

_"This is why I didn't tell you! I knew you wouldn't understand!"_

_"Understand?" Richard exclaimed. "What you are doing to yourself is disgusting, Raven, how can you do that to yourself—to your body? How am I supposed to understand that?! How am I supposed to just let you keep hurting yourself?"_

_That was the moment we crashed. When we both caught flame as the wreck ensued and our anger ignited. I could feel my spite burn for him in a way I'd never thought I could feel (for anyone). It was something beyond resentment, and drove deeper than any hate. And it was no different for him. We were crashing into each other like stone and glass, but only one of use was going to destroy the other—only one of use would break._

_"It's_ _**my** _ _body, and you have no right to tell_ _**me** _ _what to do with it!" I yelled, feeling my voice grow raw. "I know this is hard for_ _**you** _ _to accept, but it doesn't belong to you and you can't protect_ _**it** _ _from me!"_

_My words hit him harder than I'd anticipated, and for a moment something in him broke, like he'd fight me like a war if he had to._

_He grabbed my arm, tightly, and pulled me over to him, though I demanded that he to let me go. He took my wrist in his free hand. I knew exactly what he was going to do. I once again demanded for him to release me, but he didn't. He just pulled up my sleeve to reveal the fading scars of numerous losses, each one documenting another piece that I buried. But what broke me to my core was the moment his eyes fell on the fresh cuts, the ones I told him didn't exist._

_And there it was. The secret I'd fought so hard to keep locked away from the eyes of the people I loved. That secret I vowed to keep covered, now there in front of, not just me, but_ _**him** _ _. My weakness, my brokenness, every broken heart I ever had to endure, and worse—every part of me that ever died—was bare now. They weren't secrets anymore, they were just truths brought into the light, and Richard could see them now. He knew they were_ _**real** _ _._

_His grip loosened as shock took over, pulling him back from the fringe of his poor judgment. I quickly pulled away. Tears filling my eyes, my world beginning to crumble and come crashing down around me, like the mirror I was not too look away from. He held a rueful look for his actions, but that still didn't change how violated I felt, or how little he I trusted him then. He was always someone I trusted and felt safe with, but in that moment, I couldn't take shelter in him, and I didn't trust him. But in the irony of it all, he just couldn't see that I was only trying to stay alive._

"He looked at my cutting as a punishment or a means to push myself closer to death, but in truth, it was just a _distraction._ "

I looked over at Dr. Graves who still hadn't written a single word down. "Of course, it's a coping mechanism," he said moving forward in his chair. "At the end of the day, you don't want to die."

He was right, I don't want to die. I wanted nothing more than to live my life on my own terms, but I just don't know how, and I never have. Cutting is something I had control over, or at least, I thought I did. But at some point, it started _controlling me._ And I needed to learn to _live_ without it.

"I know it's wrong, and I know when I do it it's not fixing anything, and _I know_ it's not making me stronger, but when I do it… it lets me know that I'm still alive…that I can feel pain, and that I can be hurt just like everyone else. It reminds me that I am truly… _human._ "

I paused as a few tears rolled down my cheeks. I'd never admitted that before, not even to myself... at least not out loud. My humanity has always been something of an illusion to me, like it was something that maybe I didn't truly possess. My father always looked at humanity as the very essence of weakness. Maybe I'm far more human than I thought?

But still, I've been ruled by my emptiness, my inability to feel whole, and that's what made coping so hard. For me, numbness was supposed to help me endure, but all it ever did was make me rueful and dispassionate. In that numbness my life meant nothing, and in that I could not just simply exist for the sake of existing. I needed to remind myself I was alive, and I needed to know there was more than just skin between my blood and hair.

But now, I see things far differently than I ever have, like I've finally opened my eyes to the truth and I can see just how dirty it was. Yet at the same time, there has always been something that's wanted me to see it, I just didn't want to. Much like a person who'd been demanding my attention to notice them, but I wouldn't, out of some shallow ignorance. But I see it now, and I see it as clear as I see myself, and I have to say, I don't really like what I see. In my reflection, I see a coward, a failure. I'll even go as far as to say ignorant for letting myself become what I have. I know I need to change, I know I need to be bigger than I am. I know I need to be the person I so very much wish to be. And _need to be._

"You can change all that," Dr. Graves said, picking up a box of tissues and stood up to bring it to me. "If you can bring yourself to recognize why you do it, and find the strength to talk about it, then you can find the strength to _let it go_."

I took the box of tissues from him and lightly smiled, though it was more out of defeat then triumph. "But I can't change what I've done."

"You're not supposed to, Raven," he said bluntly, "If we could change everything that we regret, then we wouldn't _learn anything_. We wouldn't grow, and we'd never learn _who we really are_. The human race will always need _something to lose_."

"I guess, _nothing can come of nothing,_ after all, can it?"

"That'd be correct," he smiled, "our failures aren't meant to break us, they're meant to make us stronger, wiser, and overall, better people. _Knowing how to fail_ is just as important as _knowing how to win._ "

He was right. There are too many people who don't know how to fail, and for that, they are _empty_. As a poet once said _, "The very thing that empties you, will surely make you whole."_ If you never learn how it feels to lose, then how can you appreciate what you gain? And if you have nothing to overcome, how do you become stronger?

I'm not saying that everything I've ever lost was worth the pain, and I'm not saying tearing at my own flesh makes me a stronger person—it doesn't. But I know this now, and I know I have to at least try to move past it. I'm not invincible, and I was never meant to be, but there's _a lot of things I was never meant to be._ That in itself is something I need to hold on to. It's something I can grow from, and it's something that I have already overcome.

If there is anything I've learned from my time here, on this world, it's that nothing is ever simple, and that if you want something, you have fight for it. We all have to learn to play the hand we are given, and we all need to remember why, _"the hangman is a fool,"_ which brings me to this little realization.

After my session with Dr. Graves, I realized that I still had the matter of that old tarot card. I'd been using it as a book mark, looking at it from time to time, trying to remember what I was trying to tell myself. And well, the answer is _, I don't know_ , but maybe I'm not supposed to…

The card itself represents life hanging in the balance, the uncertainty of our future, and those moments when we find ourselves stagnant at the crossroads. I honestly think that when I wrote that messages I thinking, _why?_ _Why should I live a life of pain, sadness, and never-ending broken hearts? Why should I carry on with my life just so I can possibly bring something of empty irony into the world, just so death can someday come and whisk me away anyway? Aren't there already enough miserable people here that can fill that niche?_

That's what I'd ask myself, and that's the question I asked after I kicked Richard out that night. I painfully thought about all the reasons _not to be_ anymore, and what my life really meant to me in that very moment, and so many others. And sadly, that's how I'd felt for a long time. I, at that moment, had nothing worth living for. Cutting myself was my way of showing myself that I had _my life_ to live for, that it was worth something, that it was _real_ and _human_ —that I could feel something. But I also hated myself for it, and I didn't want to hate myself anymore. I didn't want to hate anything anymore. My life, my mother, Azar, the people of Azarath, even my father—I was just done hating them, I just wanted to forgive them all, but I just didn't have it in me to do so.

I hated how little it took to shake me, how much I needed to prove I was still human, and how much it hurt to be human. I hated that I couldn't even bring myself to let go of so much pain, pain that was literally killing me. Yet I was just sitting there, letting it eat me alive, just like my depression. And in the end, I just didn't want to be sad anymore, I just wanted _to be nothing._

But you know what the worst part about being depressed is? When you want it stop, but you can't shut it off. Or better yet, it's more like a candle that just won't light. Like there just isn't enough oxygen to give the flame life and it refuses to burn.

Depression can be suffocating, it's like a slow death, and you think— _why wait?_ Those moments are the most frightening to me, and it's maddening how little they take to provoke

I can't tell you how many times I've found myself having a relatively good day where things aren't even half bad, but then I'm suddenly confronted with something that just hits me the wrong way. It could be something so small, like someone diminishing something I'm proud of, or disappointing someone whose opinion means the world to me. Either way, those moments leave me feeling defeated and lessened, even when I know, perfectly well, that I shouldn't take it to heart. But there's something about self-pity that just drives the knife deeper into the crack of a broken heart.

The worst is when you want it to stop, when you're just too tired to cry anymore. Or you just don't want to waste any more tears, but for some reason, it just hurts too much to stop. The thoughts, the pain, the failures, and the losses just all seem too great to overcome. They thrive on these moments, when you just can't fake a smile, when you can't even fake one for yourself. Those are the moments that are dangerous, because they're so unpredictable, and they come without any warning. They're like dormant seeds that have been planted for years then bloom out of nowhere—they just need the right climate and the right cultivation. For me, those seeds sprout thoughts that eat away at my front, leaving it weakened, like a willow tree being suffocated by invasive vines. I can't live with them leeching off of me—I'm stricken by them. In their oppressing coil, I'm consumed, and in their grip, I'm a stagnant fool.

It's a horrible feeling, to know those things are killing you, yet you feel like you can't escape it, so you do nothing about it, and _wait_. Waiting for that moment to take you, waiting for that moment when you finally let go—and drown. That's something that still really scares me, that I'm my own worst enemy. That I have the power to _save me_ , or the power to _end me_. That I'm always one bad decision away from the end.

I actually told Dr. Graves about this and that I feared that because _I'd crossed the line_ once, that I'd be more likely to do it again.

"This is why you're here now," he replied stoically, "and you're right. People who make an attempt on their life, are more likely to do it again, but that doesn't mean you will. It just means we need to do everything in our power to give you the tools to prevent that from happening."

He went on to say that he understood my concern and how he could understand the weight of that sort of _personal responsibility_. He referred to it as _a parallel that one needs to become comfortable with_. Stating that it is _truly unsettling to be alone with your thoughts and know, deep down, exactly what it would take to topple you._ This really hit home for me, especially because I knew in my empathy that he was speaking from experience. That he knew the words I was trying to express, but just couldn't quite arrange into a sentence. Like he knew firsthand what it was like to live the burden of self-destruction, and the responsibility of not allowing it to destroy you, yet you've already proven that you've failed at that.

I actually found this sad, because since my meeting Dr. Graves, I'd never really picked up on it, but it all makes sense now. And to be honest, I'm happy he understands, because sometimes, I honestly don't. But it helps to know that I can move past this. He clearly has, but I have a long way go.

I'm still haunted by that night and the fact that I failed myself and _Richard_. Because to the both of us, I'll always be the girl who took all her sleeping pills and nearly died on the bathroom floor.

I can still recall the look on Richard's face when he left, like he knew he'd pushed me too far, that he'd taken too much. He knew he'd broken my heart and he couldn't stand to see it, but he also couldn't take the thought of me hurting myself either. In that memory, he couldn't understand anything about me. He loved and hated me all in the same breath, and I hated him for loving me. But I also loved him, because even through all the bullshit and anger, he just wanted me to be happy, and he wanted that more than anything. He wanted it more than I did. Maybe that was the problem? I need to want happiness enough to fight for it, and I've just been letting it allude me. But in that moment, I couldn't find happiness even if I wanted to.

In that moment _the hangman was a fool_ for remaining and allowing himself to be, but that was a dangerous way to think. Now, I think I'd rather see it as, _why keep drowning?_ Why keep living in the _curtly of April_ and why keep allowing myself to relive my past mistakes? Why not change? Or at least try? I don't want to end up here again and I don't want to live in a world where I'm just one broken heart away from killing myself. I have make the decision to swim and I can't keep letting the waves take me. I have to live like there truly is a tomorrow. I have to live like there is something more to this.

I hope in time I can do that—be happy. I want to enjoy my life, not worry about what it means or what the horrible things the future might bring. I want to be better for my friends, I know they want nothing more. But more importantly, I want to be better for myself, that's that most important thing of all.

Robin sat, looking down at the envelope in his hands, outside the hospital. He knew he should be heading back to the tower, but he just couldn't find the will to. He was still too shocked.

 _How can this even be possible?_ He thought, looking up to find the sun had grown dull overhead.

The fire of the day was beginning to burn out, and the amount of foot traffic was growing with every minute lost. His hands ached a little with surreal empathy. The kind that only stirs when there is something sentimental clinging to them, the kind that reminds you of what's lost.

Disbelief grew in his gaze, but he could somehow taste the reality. He took out his cell phone and begrudgingly began looking through the contacts. His thumb felt weak as it swiped down the screen, but hesitance lingered upon it when the name he sought presented itself on the screen.

 _How did you even find this?_ Robin grimaced silently, though in truth if anyone could have found this lost secret, it was _Batman._

His thumb still hovered over the contact, almost blindly, but the willingness to move forward and make the call, didn't completely feel right. Robin wasn't even sure if he was supposed to be privy to the information he'd been given, yet there he was, holding that dull, manila envelope as he sat on the bench.

He wasn't even sure what to do with it. He let his wary thumb pounder over Bruce's contact, while he lost himself in thought. He could hear the rhythm of foots steps passing by, leaving him in the past as they moved forward. But for the moment, he was static, and unmoved, and that's where he wanted to be, until an unwelcome voiced called his name.

"You said your name was Dick, right?"

Robin looked up to find that the question had been asked by the last person that he wanted to see. "What the hell do you want, _Eric_?"

"Hey," Eric said, plucking the cigarette from his lips and pulling his hands up, "I'm not here to stir shit up."

"Then what else would you be doing here?" Robin retorted and got up from the bench hostilely.

"Uh, because I had an appointment with my bat shit crazy shrink," Eric patronized. "I swear that bitch should be locked up on the fourth floor with the rest of _throwaways."_

 _"Throwaways?"_ Robin asked not understanding what he meant.

" _Crazy people_ , like the kinda crazy that gets you committed _for life."_

Robin's eye gazed up to the fourth floor, the sun's glare blacking out the windows, "So that's what's up there," Robin muttered a moment, lost deep in his thoughts.

"Yeah, religious nuts to violent schizophrenics, you name it, they got it. That's why there's no button to the fourth floor in any of the elevators. You need _full clearance_ to get up there."

"And how do you even know this?" Robin asked with a little disbelief at how some like _Eric Forrester_ could possibly know something like that and _Robin, the Boy Wonder,_ didn't.

"My bat shit crazy shrink told me."

"And how would she know?"

"Cause she has _full clearance_."

Robin frowned and crossed his arms, not really sure if he could trust the information, especially because he recalled Raven calling him a _compulsive liar_. "Why are you even telling me all this?"

"Cause I'm fucked up and I think Raven might be in trouble," the boy shrugged.

"Fuck off—" Robin spat, then turned to walk away.

"Wait!" Eric called, begging for Robin to stop. "Before you get all _holier than thou_ on me—just let me explain."

"You have thirty seconds before I shove that cigarette down your throat," Robin replied, getting ready put the cigarette out on his face.

"Okay," Eric grumbled, but continued, "I asked Quinzel about what happened to Raven. As far as I knew she was still seeing her as a patient, and she said that Raven stopped taking her medication and hadn't shown up for an appointment weeks."

"Dr. Quinzel's isn't allowed to tell you any of that."

"I know that," Eric replied, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, she told me not to worry and said that she was gonna _take care_ of Raven."

"She's not even assigned to Raven's case?"

"I know, you mentioned she was seeing another doctor and I know how much Raven _hated_ Quinzel."

"Okay," Robin said putting up his hands, "so other than what looks like an unhealthy interest in a former patient, what makes you think Raven's in trouble?"

The young man ashed his cigarette and took a breath. "Dr. Quinzel has a bad habit of selling her patients up the river for a buck."

"What you mean?"

"Prescription drugs, ECT, you name it, that bitch has a stake in it. For example, what medication did she prescribe Raven to help sleep at night?"

"Trazodone."

"And the depression?"

"Elavil—why?" Robin said with worry.

"That's what I'm on. She prescribes a lot of her patients those scripts, y'know why?"

Robin's eyes widened as his face plummeted to his feet. "Because she's given an _incentive_ every time she prescribes those meds…" Robin concluded with a bewildered tone.

"Yeah, and ECT, she's given _a commission_ —like a finders-fee—every time she refers someone."

"How do you know that?"

"Because she _referred me_. I overheard her talking to the shrink who did it, she said she wanted an _increase in her fee_. I remember Raven mention that Quinzel brought it up."

"Did you go through with it?" Robin finally asked, nervous to hear the answer.

He nodded and looked down. "I had really horrible sleep paralysis, it started when I was a kid, doctors said it was due to stress."

"That's like night terrors right?"

"Yeah, if only they were night terrors," Eric laughed patronizingly. "They felt more like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from, most of the time I wasn't even sure I was asleep. Either way, after my grandmother died, they got really bad. They were destroying my life, that's when I found Dr. Quinzel."

"She recommended ECT?"

"Yep," Eric said ruefully, "she said that it would help and that studies showed effectiveness in people with hallucinations, and I was desperate."

"Did it work?"

"That depends on your definition of _work_ ," Eric drawled. "My sleep paralysis is gone, but so his half my childhood. Also, it took me a year to remember how to play the piano—that's something that has been a part of me nearly my whole life—and after one treatment of ECT—I couldn't even play " _Chopsticks."_ I still can't completely collect my focus enough to write a simple melody. And on top of it all, I'm still depressed, though part of me thinks it's because that bitch told me I'd have a better life once I got _reacquainted_ … turns out, you can't just _erase fucked up."_

"Why didn't you do something about it? There are laws against what she did, you can fight it," Robin urged, his faith in the law far stronger than Eric's.

"Lawsuits cost money, and no one would believe me, because I'm crazy and _she's a doctor_. Plus, I signed my life away, so technically that stupid cunt didn't do anything wrong."

"So you're just gonna let her get away with it?"

"Yeah," Eric snapped, "I'm not _Batman_ , I can't just fucking save everyone, I can't even save myself." The young man sat down and wrapped his arms around himself. "And it doesn't matter, the damage is done, no one can fix me. I'm only telling you this because I don't wanna see Quinzel get her hooks in Raven."

"Why does she care so much about Raven, anyway?"

The young man glanced down a moment and put his cigarette out on the sole of his shoe. "Cause she has a lot to lose if anyone ever found out about her deals."

"But all that those things are legal?"

"Yeah, that still doesn't mean she couldn't lose her job or even her license if someone could prove that she didn't have a patients best interest at heart. People need to trust their doctors, this hospital can't afford something like that getting out. And unlike me, Raven has you. You're the son of one of the richest men on the planet. I can't bring her down, but you can. Quinzel knows that."

Robin looked away, staring at the hospital ruefully. He didn't want to believe a doctor would be so cruel and so financially invested, but he knew that Dr. Quinzel was only one of many to betray her Hippocratic Oath, but could he really end her like Eric claimed he could?

"I'm sorry that happened to you," he finally said. "I'll keep an eye on Raven, and, I'll tell her you're _sorry_."

"No," the boy replied, standing up to walk away, "it's better that she just forget me. She never really _loved me anyway_ , she was already in love with _someone else_."

Robin glanced back at him, not really sure what say to this strange, yet complacent adversary, though it seemed now he wasn't one at all. But why had he thought of him as such?

Eric then walked away, not wasting the moment as though he knew he no longer belonged there, like he never had in the first place. Robin watch him go, still holding that curious envelope, its question once again burning. After a few moments he finally started on toward home and cut through the park once again.

This was becoming something of the norm for him, and though it took longer, it seemed the best way to quiet his mind. As he passed, he heard the plucking of guitar strings, their silvery sound reminding him of ice shattering in the chill of winter. A voice soon followed, like wind over the height of the snow.

 _"No this is not my guitar;  
I'm bringing it to a friend,_  
_And no, I don't sing;_  
I'm only humming along."

He looked at the guitar player still strumming away and telling his common place tale of the beauty he'd once found of a world an ocean away. Part of him could see that distant place, though he had only been to the world that guitarist sang about, once.

 _"Tonight you were my muse,_  
As I belted and I strummed.  
Trying not to drown,  
In the helicopter drone.

He missed it somehow, maybe because he recalled how much his mother loved it and much his father didn't take well to the cold. Still, somehow that world was lost and too far away to touch, even beyond the ocean. Just like so many other things.

 _"I should've played it then,_  
From the intro to the end,  
When they offered me the stage,  
At the bar we landed in.

 _But I turned and walked_  
_Away from all the fun._  
_And back into the black_  
_Seaside night, of Alesund."_

He glanced down at the envelope again, his mind wondering how far away this new world was, and if it even belong alongside hers—Raven's. But through query and doubt, he thought that maybe it was the hope she needed, that _new beginning_ to her _end_.

When he finally reached the tower he didn't enter, he just sat down on a rock and picked up his phone again, dialing Bruce promptly.

"Hello?"

"Hey Bruce…"

"Everything alright, Dick?"

Robin paused a moment, his eyes catching the sun as it began to grasp the soft colors of reds while it sank. "Honestly, I don't know?"


End file.
